


A Postcard

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ruth leaves England, it takes her a while to find her feet, but no matter how hard she tries, she cannot forget one man, so she sends him a postcard... Set after episode 5.5, this story is very M-rated and is really just an excuse for writing lots of smut, so you have been warned. All characters belong to Kudos; I'm just borrowing them for a little bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this fic was a song by S Club 7. I realize that Ruth is much bolder and less reserved in this story than she was in Spooks, but hopefully it's not too far fetched to believe that she might have felt free to live life more fully once she was away from Thames House and living in a new country and culture, under a new identity. After all, she was very different with George in the glimpse we got of her in Cyprus. Someone mentioned recently that there are a lot of fics with Harry being intimate with someone other than Ruth, but that poor Ruth doesn't often get that opportunity, so she does in this fic, but don't worry, I promise it has a happy HR ending. I hope you enjoy and please leave a review if you have time. Thanks, S.C.

It started out with just a postcard. She'd been gone a few weeks, keeping on the move, partly to avoid detection and partly because none of the places she'd been to felt like somewhere she could call home. She'd thought of him daily, especially in the quiet of the night after she'd switched off the TV or radio and turned out the light, just before she fell asleep. She wondered if he was thinking of her also, wishing that things could have been different, wishing that she hadn't cared so much about what the others thought of her, wishing that she'd given them a chance.

So one day, she'd plucked up her courage and sent the postcard, telling herself that, in his place, she'd want to know that she was all right, that she was safe. That's all she'd intended to say, but in the end, she'd said much more, essentially admitting that she loves him. _Quos amor verus tenuit tenebit,_ she'd written. She'd almost thrown it out when she'd reread it, but she'd stopped herself at the last moment and posted it instead. She'd needed to tell him, needed him to know it now that she would, in all likelihood, never see him again. When they'd worked together, she couldn't because she wasn't ready to endure the gossip and telling him without agreeing to be with him would have been just plain cruel. Then, however, it felt good to say it, to let him know; it was like a weight lifting off her shoulders.

It's been four months since she'd sent the postcard and she still thinks of him every day. It's his birthday in two weeks and she wonders if Adam, Zaf, and Jo will be organizing a celebration for him like she'd done every year since Tom had left. It'll be the first birthday he's had without her and she wonders if he'll notice, if he'll remember, if he thinks of her as often as she thinks of him. “Stop this, Ruth,” she tells herself, forcing herself to get up and wash up the breakfast dishes before she goes off to work. There's no point in dwelling on the past, wishing for things she can never have.

That night, Mario takes her out to dinner and she has fun, laughing at the jokes he makes, dancing with him exhilaratingly, enjoying life. He takes her home afterwards and she invites him up to her flat. She offers him coffee, but he declines; there's only one thing he wants, one thing they both want. They kiss passionately and make their way to her bedroom with practised ease, still lip locked, tumbling onto the bed as they tug their clothes off each other in haste. Ruth loves sex with Mario. He's a practised lover who can bring her to orgasm quickly and powerfully, and tonight is no different. His fingers are inside her and his mouth on her breast as he works his magic and finds all the right spots, causing her to writhe beneath his touch as he builds her up and she climaxes with a low, inarticulate moan.

“Sei bellissima, Tesoro,” he murmurs in a low, husky voice as he pulls his fingers out of her and gazes down at her with passion filled eyes. He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs the condom, slipping it on with practised ease. “Apri le gambe,” he directs and Ruth complies, spreading her legs ready to take him inside her. He positions himself and grabs hold of her ankles, pushing her knees towards the bed and slowly pressing into her.

“Mmmmm,” she moans as he enters her fully.

“Sì, Tesoro. Mi accendi come una luce. Come mi piace scoparti,” he replies as he leans over her, moving inside her slowly, sensually, pulling out almost completely before gliding back in, filling her up again. His mouth dips down to her breasts, licking her most sensitive places just below her nipples. Her hands are gripping his strong arms tightly now, her breath coming in pants. Dear God, but he knows exactly what to do to make her body burn.

He lifts his head and begins to move faster now, murmuring in a soft growl, “Sì, Tesoro. Ti scoperò fino a farti esplodere di piacere.”

“Oh God!” she moans as she clings to his arms, feeling her next orgasm fast approaching.

“Ti piace questo, e?” he growls. “Sì, vieni. Vieni, Tesoro mio,” he encourages as he pounds into her and seconds later they come almost at the same time, thrusting their bodies together and groaning in ecstasy.

Afterwards, she rests her head on his shoulder for a little while, enjoying the delicious sensations still lingering in her body and the warmth of his skin against hers. He doesn't stay long; he never does, and that's another thing she likes about him. She walks him to the door in her dressing gown, kissing him goodnight, and closing and locking the door after him. Then she makes her way back to bed.

It's only once she's back in bed, alone, that she allows herself to think of Harry, and she finds that she always wants to think of him at night, even after sex with another man. In fact, paradoxically perhaps, all the Oxytocin that's been released inside her body from sex doesn't serve to bond her to her lover, but rather to a man who's miles away and it make her feel more in love with him than ever.

After she'd sent the postcard to him, she'd felt lighter and more ready to begin her new life, and a few weeks later she'd met a man that she'd began dating. The first time they'd had sex, she'd let herself imagine that she was with Harry, and though it had been wonderful at the time, afterwards she'd been so disappointed that it wasn't really him that she'd cried for a long time. So since that night, she hadn't let herself do it again. Fantasizing about Harry's something she does when she's alone, not with someone else. Her relationship with Jean Claude hadn't lasted very long, mainly because she hadn't been ready to move on yet.

After she'd left France for Italy, she'd realised that she might never be ready to move on from Harry, but that it didn't have to mean that she couldn't have a relationship with another man. She just needed to change what she was looking to get out of it. So when she'd met Mario, she'd been open with him, telling him that she was still in love with a man she'd had to leave behind and was looking for someone with whom she could share some fun times. Mario had been delighted. He was young, in his late twenties, and was also just interested in having a good time, so they'd hit it off.

They see each other about once or twice a week now, sometimes more frequently and sometimes less so, but they always have a good time and great sex. Her decision to live life like this for now has opened her horizons and Mario has taught her a lot about living in the moment. She's fond of him, but they have little in common and she knows she could never love him. Maybe, if she's lucky, she'll find love again, but in all honesty, she doubts it. She truly believes that Harry's the love of her life, which is why she suddenly decides that she's going to send him a present for his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of Italian (Hopefully!)
> 
> "Sei bellissima, Tesoro," - "You are beautiful, Treasure."
> 
> "Apri le gambe," - "Open your legs."
> 
> "Sì, Tesoro. Mi accendi come una luce. Come mi piace scoparti," - "Yes, treasure. You turn me on like a light. How I love to fuck you."
> 
> "Sì, Tesoro. Ti scoperò fino a farti esplodere di piacere." - "Yes, treasure. I will fuck you until I make you explode with pleasure."
> 
> "Ti piace questo, e? Sì, vieni. Vieni, Tesoro mio," - "You like this, eh? Yes, come. Come, my treasure."


	2. Chapter 2

He unlocks the door and walks into the house, bending over to scratch Scarlet's ears and murmur a greeting before picking up the stack of post from the floor and putting it on the hall table. He closes and locks the door behind him, turning to reset the alarm before removing his coat and gloves. He makes his way into the kitchen, talking to Scarlet as he goes, washing his hands at the sink, and dishing out her food. He places it on the floor by her water and she begins gulping it down with great enthusiasm as he changes her water and turns to feed the cats, who are purring loudly as they wrap themselves around his ankles and do their best to trip him up as usual. Once they're also eating happily in another part of the kitchen, he opens the fridge, looking for something to eat.

A little while later, he's sitting on the sofa listening to Classical radio and sipping a glass of whisky with Scarlet happily curled up against his side and Fidget lying across his feet. He's never been able to work out why Ruth called the cat Fidget. In his experience, it just likes to lie there without moving, preferably on something warm. The other cat, Spectacles, is lying on the armrest of the sofa tucked away against his side, under his upper arm, also wishing to be near a warm body. He's often considered with some amusement that there's little change of him ever dying from hypothermia in this house.

He closes his eyes and leans back, letting his thoughts wonder and finding that they inevitably settle on one person, a person he hasn't seen in over eight months. He wonders where she is, if she's safe, what's she's doing, who she's with. An image of Ruth with another man, tall, dark, handsome, flashes through his mind but he pushes is resolutely away, replacing it with an image of Ruth, lying naked in his bed, smiling at him softly, gazing at him with adoring eyes.

He sighs, feeling the tightness in his trousers as his body responds rapidly to such an erotic picture. He really needs sex, but lately, work has been so busy that he hasn't had the time to indulge in it. He's been involved with two women over the last few months, Cynthia and Margaret, seeing them both on and off since Ruth had left, but he's under no illusion that either of them mean anything to him, or that he means much to them. They're both married women and he'd picked them up, separately of course, one at a bar and the other at a function he'd been obliged to attend. Both are beautiful, tall, elegant, and bored with the life of privilege they lead, both are available, and neither of them looks like Ruth. He never thinks of Ruth when he's with them. For him, it's just sex. His body needs the occasional release inside another, the feel of her warm skin against his, the brief human connection. Seeing two women concurrently adds spice to his otherwise rather monotonous private life, and he has no qualms about it since they're also not sleeping with him exclusively.

Tonight, however, even if one of them was available, which he doubts would be the case at such short notice, he'd rather crack one off in the shower, thinking of Ruth. She's the only one he'd like to share his birthday with, and since she's not here, he'll have to make do with the Ruth that dwells in his imagination.

“Time for bed, Scarlet,” he murmurs and nudges her off the sofa. She gives him a reproachful look before trotting off to her basket in the kitchen near the radiator. Then he downs the remainder of his drink, and dislodging two disapproving cats, he carries the glass into the kitchen, rinsing it at the sink before returning to the hall to double check that the front door is locked and the alarm is set. As he turns to go upstairs, he spots the post on the hall table, and picking it up, he quickly sifts through it, separating the bills from the rubbish. The last envelope is larger than the rest and padded with bubble wrap. Intrigued, he carries all the post to the kitchen, placing the bills on the counter and tossing the rubbish in the bin before turning his attention to the mystery envelope. It's postmarked in London with today's date and has no return address on it, just his name and address written on the front in handwriting that's so achingly familiar. “Ruth,” he breathes as he traces a finger across his name, imagining her writing it with care and posting it to him. Then he remembers the postmark and his heart lurches. Could she be in London? No, it would be too dangerous. She probably found someone to bring it into the country and post it for her.

Carefully he slides his thumb under the flap of the envelope, pulling it slowly up. He reaches inside it and takes out a cardboard CD case. He makes sure the envelope is empty, pulling out the bubble wrap, trying hard not to destroy the part on which she wrote his name, wanting to keep it in his safe with the postcard she'd sent him several months ago. He calls himself a sentimental, old fool, but it doesn't stop him from carefully cutting the piece out and setting it aside before throwing away the rest of the envelope and turning to the CD case. There's nothing written on the cardboard envelope, but the CD itself has “Happy Birthday, Harry. Love, Stubborn Mule x” written across it and it makes him smile. He flips it over and looks at it under the light, but it looks like it has very little data on it. He wonders what she might have sent, so he walks back into the sitting room and puts it into his CD player to find out if it's an audio file. According to the player it has one track on it. He pauses for a moment before pressing play, taking a deep breath in preparation for what he will hear. Next moment the room is filled with music, a pop song, and as he listens intently to the lyrics, tears begin to gather in his eyes.

 

 _“Everybody's got something they had to leave behind,_  
 _One regret from yesterday that just seems to grow with time._  
 _There's no use looking back or wondering,_  
 _How it could be now or might have been._  
 _Oh, this I know, but still I can't find ways to let you go._  
  
_“I've never had a dream come true,_  
 _Till the day that I found you._  
 _Even though I pretend that I've moved on,_  
 _You'll always be my baby._  
 _I never found the words to say,_  
 _You're the one I think about each day._  
 _And I know no matter where life takes me to,_  
 _A part of me will always be with you.”_

 

And as he continues to listen to the song, the tears begin to flow freely, clouding his vision, and he's forced to take a couple of steps over to the sofa and sit down.

  
_“Somewhere in my memory,_  
 _I've lost all sense of time,_  
 _and tomorrow can never be cos yesterday is all that fills my mind._  
 _There's no use looking back or wondering,_  
 _How it should be now or might have been._  
 _Oh, this I know, but still I can't find ways to let you go,_  
  
_“I've never had a dream come true,_  
 _Till the day that I found you._  
 _Even though I pretend that I've moved on,_  
 _You'll always be my baby._  
 _I never found the words to say,_  
 _You're the one I think about each day._  
 _And I know no matter where life takes me to,_  
 _A part of me will always be.”_

 

He places his elbows on his knees and cradles his head in his hands as the tears continue to pour down his face and sobs begin to wrack his body. “Oh, God, Ruth,” he whispers, “I miss you so much.”

  
_“You'll always be the dream that fills my head._  
 _Yes, you will, say you will, you know you will, oh baby._  
 _You'll always be the one I know I'll never forget._  
 _There's no use looking back or wondering,_  
 _Because love is a strange and funny thing._  
 _No matter how I try and try I just can't say goodbye._  
 _No, no, no, no._  
  
_“I've never had a dream come true,_  
 _Till the day that I found you._  
 _Even though I pretend that I've moved on,_  
 _You'll always be my baby._  
 _I never found the words to say,_  
 _You're the one I think about each day._  
 _And I know no matter where life takes me to,_  
 _A part of me will always be,_  
 _A part of me will always be with you._

 

The music stops but his tears do not, and soon he hears a low whine and feels Scarlet's paws on his thigh just before her cold, wet nose begins to nuzzle his face. He almost chuckles at her concern and begins to pull himself together, lifting his head from his hands and saying gruffly, “It's okay, Girl. I'm fine,” as he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. She whines again and begins to lick his face, apparently enjoying the taste of his tears. “Knock it off, Scarlet,” he chuckles, pushing her away and getting up. He walks back into the kitchen and rinses his face at the sink, letting the cool water refresh and calm him. Then he picks up the tea-towel and dries himself before turning back to Scarlet and scratching her behind the ears, murmuring, “Thanks, Old Girl. Yes... You're a good girl.” He fusses over her for a little bit and then returns to the sitting room, carefully putting the CD back in its case and turning off the player before taking it and the piece of paper she'd written his address on up stairs to his office.

Once inside, he turns on his computer and slides the CD in it. He checks the content of the disk and finds only the one audio file burned on it. It's called 'S Club 7 – Never Had a Dream Come True', so now he knows the title and artist. There are no other files on the CD, but he didn't really expect there to be anything else; it's too risky. It's been less than a year since she'd left, and she's still in danger if anyone finds out she's alive and well.

Satisfied that there's nothing else for him to find, he plays the song one more time, closing his eyes and letting the memories of her flick through his mind. It's so good to know that she still remembers him, and judging from the song she chose to send him, still loves him. It's the best birthday present he could have wished for... other than seeing her again, holding her in his arms, kissing her senseless.

Once the song's over, he slides the CD back into its case and locks it away in his safe, next to the slip of paper with his address and the postcard she'd sent. Then he shuts down the computer and makes his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As he's brushing his teeth, he decides that it's time to talk to Malcolm. He's going to clear Ruth's name if it's the last thing he does, and he needs Malcolm's help to achieve that. He's under no illusion that it'll be a speedy process, but the CD she's sent today is proof that she's open to returning home to him. Up until now, he'd had his doubts; he'd thought that perhaps she's better off away from MI-5, away from him, that perhaps she's happier elsewhere with someone else. Now he's sure that the only place for her is by his side and his heart feels lighter than it has done in months, about eight months in fact, and hope flutters in his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been a year since she'd left and the need to talk to him, communicate with him in some way in which he can reciprocate is becoming overwhelming. She still thinks of him every day, wondering if he's thinking of her, if he's safe, and not knowing these things is beginning to eat away at her.

She'd tried to forget him, to move on a few months ago, after Christmas. It had been a difficult time of year and she'd found herself unable to enjoy anything, consumed as she was by homesickness, sadness, and regret. But she'd discovered very quickly that such an attempt was bound to fail; she loves him and she just can't stop. Somewhere along the line she's lost her heart to him and she hopes that he's cherishing it and keeping it safe for her, that when she sees him again he won't break it, but will give her his heart instead so that they'll always be close and together, two halves of the same soul.

In her darkest moments, she convinces herself that he no longer cares, that he's met someone else, that he's happy without her, that what she's planning is unfair and cruel, not an act of love, but a selfish act on her part. But at other times, she recalls the looks they'd exchanged, the love that had grown between them, and she can't believe that he can have found that already with another woman so soon after her departure. And then she remembers that she's the only one with the power to contact him. He doesn't know where she is, so even if he's desperate to see her again, there's nothing he can do about it. So with determination and decisiveness, she moves forwards with her new plan, finding some way to communicate with him.

The most practical way is email - encrypted, coded email. So she'd opened an email account that they could both log into and save messages for each other in the drafts folder. Now all she has to do is find a way to tell him what the email address is. She's pretty confident that he'll guess the password... eventually.

 

* * *

 

There'd been a message waiting for him when he'd got out of the JIC meeting. “Hi, Dad, it's me,” she'd said. “Can you meet me for lunch tomorrow? I happen to be in town and it's been a while. I'd love to see you.” He'd called her back immediately and they'd arranged to meet here at one.

It's one now and he's already sitting at the table waiting for her to make an appearance. When she gets there, she's only a minute late, but she still smiles and murmurs apologetically, “Hi, Dad. Sorry, I'm late.” He'd got up when she'd approached, and now she leans towards him and kisses his cheek, sliding her hand round his waist, inside his coat which hangs open in front.

He's pleasantly surprised by this, and he presses a kiss to her cheek and loosely wraps his arms around her, murmuring, “Hello, Catherine. It's good to see you.” It's when he feels something hard yet flexible – cardboard maybe? - press against his back and slide down it between his trousers and shirt that he starts a little. He's trained his reflexes well, however, and his surprise only registers in his eyes and body language for a split second.

“From a friend,” she whispers before pulling back and taking a seat. “Have you ordered?” she asks. “I'm starved. I think I'll have a jacket potato. I really missed them in Africa.”

“So that's where you've been hiding away lately,” he replies as he turns to the menu, having sat down carefully, feeling the cardboard nestled along his back bend as he took a seat.

The waitress approaches them and Catherine orders her jacket potato before turning towards him and asking, “What'll it be, Dad? A BLT?”

“You know me too well, Catherine,” he smiles and places his order for a BLT and some tea. “So what were you doing in Africa?”

“Can't talk about that yet,” she winks, “but all will be revealed shortly in my next documentary.”

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” he smiles.

“The secrecy?” she asks. “Absolutely. How does it feel, Dad, to have the shoe on the other foot?” He chuckles and shakes his head, watching the smile spread across her lips as her eyes twinkle at him in mischief before she continues, “I actually did a little travelling this time before we began filming and it was amazing. There's so much history there, Dad. Egypt was spectacular as you'd expect, but my favourite was actually Morocco.” Then she begins to chat away, telling him all sorts of things that she's seen on her travels, and he can't help but feel proud of his daughter and the woman she's become.

Later as they prepare to leave, he visits the gents and carefully, surreptitiously, and quickly transfers the card from his trousers to the inside pocket of his jacket. He doesn't look at it now; it's too risky. Then he makes his way back to Catherine, who leans in to give him another hug and kiss once they step outside the premises. Before she pulls away, however, she whispers, “She's lovely, Dad. I hope you can fix it for her to come back. I know she'd really like that and I think she'd be good for you.”

“Who?” he asks as his eyes widen in surprise and his heart hammers rapidly in his chest.

“You know who,” she smiles as she pulls back and adds, “She said she envies her cats and books.”

He knows that his eyes betray the hope and joy that has sprung up inside him as he murmurs, “You saw her?”

She nods and says, “She wants to talk to you.” She nods meaningfully towards him and he understands and feels another surge of pride for his daughter bubble up inside him. She'd make a good spook.

“Thank you,” he smiles, leaning forwards and placing another kiss to her cheek.

“It was good to see you, Dad,” she says as she pulls back. “We should do this more often.”

“I'd like that,” he replies. She nods and turns away, raising her hand in farewell before she disappears round the corner.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time he gets home that evening, his impatience to find out what the message from Ruth is has reached new levels. He enters his house and feeds Scarlet and the cats as usual before he pulls the paper out and looks at it. It's a card, not cardboard, and in it Catherine has written an email address and the word 'presumptuous'. He smiles fondly at the memory that surfaces and hurries upstairs to his computer, calling Malcolm on his phone as he goes. He needs to know if the security at his terminal at home will be adequate for this. Malcolm confirms that it will, but he suggests that he passes by in the morning to set up a device he's developed that'll be able to... Well, actually, Harry doesn't understand what it'll be able to do, but he agrees anyway.

Once he rings off, he turns on his machine, goes to the website, and types in the email address. It takes him three attempts to find the password - Goldrush. Once he's logged in, he sees that there's one message saved in the drafts folder. With great anticipation, he clicks on the message, opening it up and... finding a bunch of numbers. He exhales heavily, releasing the breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. He stares at the message for several seconds. It's obviously in code, but what kind of code? Then it comes to him - a book code. Catherine had said she's jealous of her cats and _books_ , so it's obviously a book that she used to own. “Thanks, Ruth,” he grumbles. “That narrows the field down a _lot_ ,” he adds sarcastically, remembering the enormous number of books that had been at her flat and hoping that it's a book he'd decided to keep.

“Okay. Think, Harry,” he tells himself and gets up, going over to the bookshelf in the corner where he keeps the books he'd rescued from Ruth's house. He'd kept all the ones that had looked important to her, ones she'd read often. The Odyssey, Iliad, Ovid... can't be those unless she's planning on writing in Latin or Greek as an additional measure of security, and he fervently hopes that she's not _that_ paranoid. Jane Eyre... possibly. Wuthering Heights... doubtful. Far from the Madding Crowd, Les Misérables, A Christmas Carol, A Tale of Two Cities, David Copperfield, Little Dorrit, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility... Persuasion! That has to be it. She was reading it on the bus.

He pulls the book from the shelf and sits down with a pen and paper, ready to attempt to decode her message. After decoding the first two words, he knows he's got the right book. “Dearest Harry,” he reads. With great excitement he sets to work and about half an hour later he has the following:

 

_Dearest Harry,_

_I have been so desperate to communicate with you. I hope you are well and are remembering not to get shot. I also hope to see you again soon. I can not stop thinking about you and I miss you. If you have gone to all the trouble of finding and reading this, then I hope it means you miss me too. Please write to me, even if your feelings are not what I hope them to be. I wish to know that you are well._

_Love, truth_

 

“Oh, Ruth,” he sighs happily. “How could you possibly doubt it?”

Then he turns the paper over and begins writing his reply. His first attempt he crosses out in irritation, deciding that it's too mild. Now is not the time to mince words; now is the time to be honest. He's going to write a love letter, he decides. By the time he's finished he realises that it's too long, and as he's never read Persuasion, he also has some trouble locating words in the text and frequently has to swap others for the ones he'd like to use, but eventually he has a reply ready to send to her. He types it up, saves it in the drafts folder, logs out, shuts down the computer, and gathering up the papers he's used, the card that Catherine had given him, and the book, he takes them downstairs.

Then taking a lighter from the drawer, he places the papers and card in the sink and sets them on fire, burning all the evidence, and miraculously, managing to do so without setting off the smoke alarm. Then he happily goes into the sitting room where he pours himself a celebratory drink and sits down, stroking Scarlet as she settles down beside him and opening the book, ready to read Persuasion for the first time.

 

* * *

 

She checks the email account every evening for almost a week before she finally sees a response. Butterflies immediately take up residence in her stomach and she has to take several deep breaths before she can bring herself to click on the draft and begin to decipher it, her heart hammering rapidly against her ribs.

 

_My dearest sweet heart,_

_I can not tell you how happy it makes me to finally be able to write to you. Your post card and song have been so soothing to my all but broken heart. I love you. I wish to see you, to hold you, to make love to you. I am going to clear your name so that we can meet again without fearing for your safety. When I have succeeded, I will come to you. Stay safe, my love._

_Yours always,_

_Harry_

 

She has tears of happiness in her eyes when she's finished decoding it. Never in a million years had she expected such an open declaration of love from Harry Pearce, a man who'd always played his emotions so close to his chest. There had been only the one time on the docks when he'd tried to tell her of his love for her and she'd stopped him, regretting it every moment since then, though she knows that she'd have found it a thousand times harder to leave had he voiced what they were both feeling at the time. And now he's said it and it truly is something wonderful.

Sighing happily, she begins to compose a reply.


	5. Chapter 5

“Here you go,” he smiles and hands Catherine her drink, taking a seat in his armchair and picking up his own mug of tea.

“Thanks, Dad,” she replies and leans forwards, taking a biscuit from the plate on the table and dipping it into her tea.

“So,” he says as he fondly watches her suck on the moist biscuit, “how are you?”

“I'm fine,” she smiles, “but I'm sure that what you really want to know is how Ruth is. Isn't that why you've asked me round today?”

“No,” he replies quickly, and then seeing the look of disbelief in her eyes, adds, “well, yes, partly. But I did want to see you and have the opportunity to catch up with you more fully. Lunch last week was rather brief and in a non-secure location.”

“A non-secure location,” she smiles. “Gosh, the words you use to describe places, Dad! What about here? Do you perform regular sweeps for bugs then?” His expression tells her that he does and she raises her eyebrows in surprise before adding, “It must be so hard to be you, Dad. Never trusting anyone, never letting your guard down.”

“Occupational hazard, I'm afraid,” he shrugs. “But you'd do well to learn a thing or two from your old man given your chosen profession, Catherine. You ruffle many feathers with your controversial yet brilliant films and I worry about you. I'd hate to receive another call telling me you're at death's door again. Once was enough; I don't think my heart will survive another one.”

“Don't worry, Dad,” she replies. “I've learned my lesson. I don't want to die and I'm being extra cautious these days. I've taken a leaf out of your book.” She smiles and adds, “But you know, if I was as cautious as you, I'd never have met Ruth.”

“How did you meet her?” he asks, relieved to be presented with such an easy opening into the topic he really wants to talk about.

“She sent me a postcard,” she replies. “Here.” She reaches into her bag and pulls it out, leaning over to hand it to him. “You can keep it if you like,” she adds.

“Thanks,” he murmurs as he takes it and looks at it, seeing a picture of a dolphin on the front before turning it over and reading the brief message.

_“Dear Catherine, you may not know me, but you and I share a bond; we love and are loved by the same wonderful man, and I desperately need your help to contact him. You may ask him about me if you doubt my word, but I can't reveal my name. I will just say that I had to leave him suddenly in February of last year. I will be waiting for you by the mosaic of Virgil in the Bardo museum in Tunis on March 12th at noon, and will be there for the next three days at the same time everyday. In the words of Emily Brontë **,** 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' Please come.”_

She watches as her father's eyes scan the postcard, seeing his gaze soften and tears glisten in his eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips. His right thumb traces the last line, lingering over the last few words. “She's right, you know,” she murmurs softly. “You really are a wonderful man, Dad.” He looks up at her in surprise, the tears he's holding back making his eyes over-bright, and there is such an expression of astonishment infused with wonder and delight on his face that she suddenly feels her heart overflow with love for him. “She said that I should look deeper, past the tough exterior you present to the world, to see who you really are, and she's right.”

He's speechless for a moment and then he clears his throat and murmurs, “She usually is.”

“The question is,” she replies thoughtfully, “where you always like this, or is it Ruth who's made you soft and cuddly all of a sudden?”

He chuckles and feels the heat rise to his cheeks as he replies, “Easy, Catherine. I have a reputation to uphold here.”

She laughs and says, “Well, she's clearly a good influence on you and she gets my vote. Why did she leave?”

“She... took the blame for something I was falsely accused of in order to expose the real culprits and save me from gaol,” he murmurs softly. “I couldn't stop her,” he adds after a short pause and she can see the pain in his eyes, which are remarkably expressive all of a sudden. Perhaps it's because they're in his home where he can be just plain Harry Pearce, or perhaps because they're talking about the woman he loves, but it's refreshing to see this caring, kind, loving, vulnerable, human side of her father. She's had glimpses of it before, that time when she'd been mixed up in his investigation into the November Committee and when he'd found her seriously wounded in the hospital in Beirut, but this is the most open she's ever seen him.

“She loves you,” she replies. “She wanted to protect you and you're lucky to have that, Dad. It's taken you long enough to find it. I think it's lovely and very sweet, and it makes me want to wait until I find that kind of love too.”

“I hope you do, Catherine,” he smiles. “You and your brother... and when you do, whatever you do, don't let it pass you by like I did.”

“But you didn't, Dad,” she objects, “or she wouldn't be so ready to protect you and wouldn't be so desperate to come back.”

He sighs heavily and replies, “Would you believe it if I told you that the first time I tried to tell Ruth that I loved her was minutes before she left, and the first time I succeeded was the day you gave me that message when I wrote her an email? We've been on one date and have kissed three times, Catherine, though I've loved her for more than three years. We could have had so much more time together if I'd acted on my feelings sooner, and I could have protected her if I hadn't been so bloody pigheaded and I'd just listened to her. I should have realised that they'd go after her to get to me, I should have been prepared to strike back.”

He sighs again and she doesn't quite know what to say to comfort him. “It's better late than never, Dad,” she murmurs eventually.

“So they say,” he nods and then smiles. “But why didn't you tell me you were meeting her?”

“I didn't have a chance,” she replies. “I got the feeling from her message and the fact that she was involved with you that she was in hiding for some reason. I only got the post card the day before flying out to Cairo and I did try to ring you, but you were unavailable. But in any case, I never really distrusted her. That postcard, the words she uses, it's so romantic... I believed her and I just had to meet her.”

He smiles and asks, “So does she look well? What did she tell you?”

“She looks lovely, very tanned. She told me she wants to come back here to England, to you, that she won't be truly happy until you're back together again. She... didn't seem like she was certain that you'd want that though, and given what you've just told me, it makes sense now. She asked about you, how you are, if you're still at the same job, living in the same place. She didn't say much else. We talked a little about you, she told me to let you back into my heart, that you really want to be close to me but don't know how to reach out. I told her about the bomb in Beirut and how you'd come to find me, and she was happy that we're closer now and told me to work on my brother. Then she explained what she wanted to do with the email account and what I needed to pass on to you so that you could write to each other. And that was it really. She was worried about staying to chat for long. I asked her where she was staying, but she avoided answering the question.”

“She's a born spook,” he smiles, “as are you, I might add. Passing me that card was very smoothly done, Catherine. I have to admit I was rather proud.”

She laughs and shakes her head at him as she replies, “You're probably the only parent in England who's proud of his daughter's talents at deception and espionage.”

He chuckles softly and says, “Not the only talents I'm proud of mind you. I'm proud of many things about you.”

“Such as?” she asks.

“Your fierce independence, your strong sense of justice, your compassion, your loyalty, your determination, your integrity, your passion, your loving nature,” he replies.

She smiles and says, “I guess I am a lot like you then. Most of those things are what Ruth said she loves about you.” He watches her carefully and she can tell that he's unsure if this is a good thing in her eyes or not, so she adds, “I find that, with every passing year, I feel more proud to call you my father, Dad. You don't need to worry. I'm happy that I'm like you in many ways. But tell me, how did Ruth know I was planning to go to Africa for two months in March? Very few people knew that.”

“Ah,” he grins this time and she can see that he's truly happy now, “she's the best analyst I've ever had the privilege to work with and there is absolutely no institution anywhere in the world that is safe from my Ruth. Finding out about your trip would have been a piece of cake compared to some things she's had to discover. She probably managed it with a single phone call.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Good morning, my love,_

_I am just leaving for work and I wanted to tell you that I love you and miss you. How much longer must we wait? I know I should be patient, but it is so hard. I can not wait to see you. I dreamt of you last night and it was wonderful to have you close again. I will endeavour to be patient. I know you are doing your best._

_All my love always._

_I wish my name was in this book!_

 

_* * *_

 

_Dearest love,_

_Do not despair. I promise we will see each other soon. We are getting closer. It will not be long now, a few months at most. Think happy thoughts. When the time comes, I will take leave to visit you. Think of the things we will do, what we will see together. I do not know where you are. Only you can plan for us. Know that I love you and think of you always._

_Your name does not need to be in this book for it is written across my heart and it is the first word I think of when I awake each morning. You are always on my mind. Be patient, my love. Good things come to those who wait._

_Yours always,_

_Harry_


	7. Chapter 7

It's taken eight months and eleven days to complete the task, and when he gets home that night, he feeds the animals and rushes straight to his computer to tell her the news. He doesn't bother with the book code this time. She's a free woman; he has her passport and driving license in his hands. All he needs to know is where she is and he'll be on the next plane over there.

 

* * *

 

She's tried to carry on with her life as normal since Harry's first message, realising that it will take time to clear her name and get back her identity. Putting her life on hold, waiting day after day for something that would probably take months, she'd realised, would be a recipe for disaster. She'd needed to keep her spirits up, her body healthy, and remain level headed. So she'd continued to live as if nothing had changed, though she'd found that she was happier and much more hopeful even if impatience got the better of her from time to time. Mario had noticed the difference and commented on it, but she hadn't told him what had changed yet.

She has plans to see him tonight, so as soon as she gets home from work, she showers and gets ready for her date. The eventing is fun, a combination of good food, good wine, good company, good music and lots of dancing. When they get home to her flat, they tumble into bed as usual, but this time Mario takes his time undressing her as if savouring each moment.

“Sei così bellissima, Tesoro,” he sighs as his hands travel up her rib cage, cupping her breasts and squeezing them gently. He kisses her softly as his hands caress her skin delicately, lovingly, and it causes alarm bells to go off in her head. This isn't how it's supposed to be with him. It's too gentle, too intimate, this is what it'll be like with Harry, her brain protests. He pulls back and whispers, “Come mi piace fare l'amore con te, Tesoro mio.”

He doesn't give her a chance to reply before he kisses her again. He's never called it making love before, she realises and feels a surge of panic. She pushes him away abruptly, feeling dizzy and nauseous all of a sudden.

“Cosa è successo?” he asks with concern as she sits up.

“Mi sento male,” she answers, getting up and moving towards the bathroom. “Dammi un attimo.”

“Posso fare qualcosa? Hai bisogno di aiuto?” he replies as he gets up to follow her.

“No,” she shakes her head and disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She just manages to make it to the toilet before she's sick, and it surprises her that, after all the things she's seen and done as a spook, it's something this gentle that turns her stomach. She can't see him any more, she realises. She's going to have to brake it off. Once she's made the decision, she's surprised at how relieved she feels and realises that she should have done it ages ago, perhaps even right after Harry had first written to her. She flushes the loo and steps into the shower, letting the warm water cascade down her face and body, opening her mouth to rinse it out.

She hasn't actually slept with Mario in almost three weeks, partly because he'd been away for a couple of weeks and partly because of her cycle. But she realises now that she's been looking for excuses not to. The closer she's been feeling to Harry, the less she's been needing sex. It holds no interest for her any longer, she realises. Now all she wants to do is make love and there is only one man she can do that with.

“Harry,” she whispers softly. “Oh, Harry. When will you come? I need you.” She feels a lump form in her throat and tears spring to her eyes, so she lets them fall for a little while, her sobs getting lost in the sound of the water cascading on top of her. Eventually she stops and pulls herself together, washing her hair and body, and getting out of the shower. She slips into her robe and brushes her teeth, before turning towards the door, preparing to face Mario. She can't cope with doing this now, she realises. She's too tired and emotional, not to mention a little drunk, she realises. She'll leave it until tomorrow.

By the time she leaves the bathroom, Mario's dressed and sitting on her bed. “Come ti senti?” he asks softly.

“Un po meglio,” she replies.

“Se vuoi posso stare...” he murmurs as he approaches and stops before her, reaching for her hands.

“No, grazie, Mario,” she smiles. “Ti chiamo domani, sì?”

“Va bene,” he replies and kisses her cheek softly. “A domani.”

“Ciao,” she says and follows him to the front door, kissing him goodnight and closing it after him.

Once he's gone, she sighs heavily before going back to the bedroom to slip into her pyjamas, put away her clothes and dry her hair. She makes some tea and then turns on her computer to check her email, needing to hear from Harry. They've been writing to each other almost every day for the past two months, and it's been truly wonderful. Their messages have been honest and open in a way that no other personal communication between them has ever been before and she feels so much closer to him, not her boss and Head of Section D, but to Harry the man, his hopes, his dreams, his heart and soul. The only restriction on their words has come from the book they're using, but in compensation, she's now a thousand times more familiar with her favourite book, and some of the words he uses, she can decode without needing to look them up any more.

She enters the password and logs in, a smile spreading across her face when she sees the new message, and after she opens it, her heart skips a beat when she sees that it isn't coded.

 

_“My dearest Ruth,_

_I have your passport in my hands and I'm ready to bring it to you. Please tell me where you are._

_All my love always,_

_Harry x”_

 

For a moment, she can't believe her eyes, but after she's re-read it twice, logged off and logged in again to double check it's still there, she hugs herself in joy before getting up and dancing around the room. She's free, free to go wherever she likes with whomever she likes, free to see Harry again. Quickly she sits down and types her reply, giving him her address and telling him to hurry up and get here soon. Then as an after thought, she adds her phone number, saying simply, “Ring me. I want to hear your voice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of Italian (I hope!)
> 
> "Sei così bellissima, Tesoro," - "You are so beautiful, Treasure."
> 
> "Come mi piace fare l'amore con te, Tesoro mio." - "How I like to make love with you, My treasure."
> 
> "Cosa è successo?" - "What's the matter?"
> 
> "Mi sento male. Dammi un attimo." - "I feel bad. Give me a moment."
> 
> "Posso fare qualcosa? Hai bisogno di aiuto?" - "Can I do something? Do you need help?"
> 
> "Come ti senti?" - "How do you feel?"
> 
> "Un po meglio," - "A little better."
> 
> "Se vuoi posso stare..." - "If you want, I can stay..."
> 
> "No, grazie, Mario. Ti chiamo domani, sì?" - "No, thank you, Mario. I'll ring you tomorrow, yes?"
> 
> "Va bene. A domani." - "Okay. Till tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 8

It's the fifth attempt he's making to ring her in two days and he desperately hopes that she's home this time. Logically, she should be. It's ten in the evening her time, and he's already tried calling during the day and earlier in the evening, and he's running out of patience. He dials the number and brings the phone to his ear, swirling his drink around in his glass as he waits for the call to connect. If this attempt fails, he's going to have to email her and arrange a time to talk, he thinks.

“Pronto?” a woman's voice answers the phone, but he's been so focused on his thoughts that he has no idea if it's Ruth's.

“Ruth?” he asks softly, leaning forwards in his seat.

“Harry?” she breathes.

“Hello, Ruth,” he murmurs, his voice deep and low with emotion.

He hears a cluttering sound at the other end of the line and then Ruth's breathless voice saying, “Harry, Harry, are you still there?”

“I'm here,” he says. “What was that?”

“I... um,” she murmurs, “I dropped the phone. Sorry.”

He chuckles softly and says, “Goodness, Ruth! I thought you were expecting my call. I hate to think what would have happened if I'd rung you without warning.” He hears a soft exhale of what could be laughter, but soon it becomes clear that she's actually crying. “Ruth?” he says softly. “Ruth, what's the matter?” But she doesn't reply so he adds, “Please, Ruth, talk to me. What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she sniffs and he hears her put the phone down and blow her nose. A few seconds later, she's back on the line and adds, “I was just so moved to hear your voice, Harry... and your laughter. I've missed you so much.”

“I've missed you too, Ruth,” he answers gruffly. He pauses and then whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry,” she murmurs softly. “When are you coming to see me?”

“On Saturday,” he smiles, relaxing back against the sofa.

“I can't wait,” she replies. “I'll pick you up at the airport. Tell me what time you arrive.”

“No,” he objects. “I'll get a taxi to your place. It'll be easier and safer that way.”

“Okay, I'll be waiting for you at home,” she replies. Then he hears her exhale heavily and add, “That's four whole days away, Harry. How am I going to manage to wait that long? Tell me something to take my mind off it. How are my cats?”

“They're fine,” he smiles. “They're right here, keeping me and Scarlet company. Spectacles is curled up against my side and Fidget is lying across my feet purring. He never so much as twitches once he's settled down, Ruth. What on earth possessed you to call him Fidget?”

She laughs softly and it warms his heart to hear it. “When he was a kitten he really did fidget non stop, even in his sleep. I guess he's mellowed with age. Either that or it's your influence. Perhaps he's copying you. I've always imagined that, once you get home and have something to eat, you spend most of your time sitting in your armchair sipping a whisky. Am I right?”

“You forgot to add reading a book or watching the telly,” he chuckles. “But that's only because I don't have you here, Ruth.”

“Are you suggesting that, if you had my company, we'd be doing something a lot more energetic together?” she asks innocently. He swallows at the images that suddenly fill his mind and almost groans out loud when she adds, “Something that would require a bed perhaps?”

He's momentarily surprised by her daring, but his astonishment is quickly replaced by pleasure that she feels as open and trusting as he does. After the messages they've been exchanging over the last couple of months almost on a daily basis, he feels a very deep connection to her and a strong desire to be close and intimate. It feels as if they've been together for years, despite the fact that they've kissed only a handful of times and their spoken conversations have rarely veered from the professional to the personal. Their written words have been tender and loving, open and honest, and he's convinced that, had Jane Austen allowed for it, they would have been much more intimate and erotic.

He clears his throat and replies, “I wasn't actually, though now I'm thinking that your idea is much better than mine.”

She laughs and says, “I'm glad to hear you still like my ideas, Harry, and that I can still change your mind. So what did you have in mind? Gardening?”

“Good heavens, no!” he exclaims. “I was thinking along the lines of just having you to talk to, to spend time with, to read with perhaps, to go out with, take a walk, have some dinner, watch a film. Just _being_ together would bring me so much happiness, Ruth.”

She sighs and replies, “All that's just four days away, Harry, and we can talk on the phone every night in the mean time. How long will you stay?”

“I've taken ten days off, the maximum I could manage in one go,” he replies. “I'd have booked a flight for tonight, but we're in the middle of a rather... sticky situation, and I can't leave before it's resolved.”

“I understand, Harry,” she murmurs. “I'll take time off work too. Then we can spend all day together for as long as you're here. What would you like to see?”

“You,” he replies huskily.

“Apart from me, Harry,” she smiles. “We'll be in Italy. We could do part of the Grand Tour.”

“We could indeed, Ruth,” he murmurs, “but to be honest, I don't think the sights of Italy will be able to hold my attention for more than a few seconds when I'll have you by my side and I haven't seen you in over a year. Frankly, I don't see us venturing out of your flat at all unless we run out of food. Do you?”

“Promises, promises, Harry,” she teases, making him laugh. “What happened to just spending time together? I'd like to go to Venice with you, and Florence, and perhaps Rome. And I'm sure that going for a walk in between time spent in bed together will be good for us. I find that increasing the sense of anticipation always improves my enjoyment of the event. Don't you?”

“Is that what we're doing now, Ruth?” he asks softly.

“Absolutely,” she smiles. “But you _do_ realise that I'm never going to be able to fall asleep tonight after all this. I'm far too excited... in more ways than one.”

His breathing has become shallower now and he asks in a husky voice, “Were you on your way to bed?”

“I was getting ready,” she replies and he can hear the smile in her voice as she adds, “I was just getting out of the shower when you called.”

He exhales heavily, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before he leans forwards and places his glass on the coffee table, causing Scarlet and the cats to get up and leave in protest at being disturbed.

“What are you doing, Harry?” she asks.

“I'm trying to stop myself from imagining you in the shower naked, Ruth,” he almost growls.

“Why?” she asks. “I don't mind. I often imagine you in the shower naked.”

“Christ!” he exclaims this time and he has to stand up to rearrange his trousers, the pressure on his now fully erect penis becoming intolerable. He can hear her chuckle at the other end of the phone, and he briefly thinks that it's much preferable to her earlier tears before he picks up his glass and downs its contents.

“Harry?” she asks softly. “I'm going to bed now. Would you like to come with me?”

He exhales heavily again and says, “Hells bells, Ruth! We haven't talked to each other in over a year, and before you left, pinning you down was like trying to catch smoke, and now, after a twenty minute conversation, you're suggesting... phone sex?”

“Yes, Harry,” she murmurs in a low sexy voice. “I want you, and since you're sitting there imagining me naked, I assume you want me too. Live in the moment with me, Harry. There's no need for self-denial and self-control right now. And I know that, if we don't do this together, I'll only end up doing it alone after we say goodnight. I won't be able to sleep otherwise. Don't you agree that it'll be more fun together?” He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat as she continues, “Come on, Harry. I'm already in bed. Where are you?”

“Sprinting up the stairs as we speak,” he growls as he turns on his heel and enters the kitchen, quickly rinsing his glass at the sink and checking the front door is locked, before swiftly making his way upstairs.

Once in his bedroom, he puts the phone on speaker, placing it on the bedside table as he strips out of his clothes, throwing them haphazardly on the chair in the corner of the room. “What are you wearing, Ruth?” he asks as he sits on the edge of the bed to remove his socks.

“A white, cotton vest with lace trim and my white lacy knickers,” she murmurs. “What about you?”

He has to swallow twice before he can find his voice. “I'm wearing nothing, Ruth. I've already stripped.”

“In that case,” she replies, “I'd better pull my top off.” He hears her moving about and he can't help touching himself, sliding his right hand up and down his hardness as he imagines her lifting her vest up over her head, her beautiful breasts bouncing free of the material.

“I want to touch you, Ruth,” he growls.

“I want you to touch me, Harry,” she replies. “I want you to run your tongue over my breasts, just below my nipples. It's the most sensitive spot.”

He hears her moan softly and he can't help his own groan of arousal from escaping his lips. “I wish I could see you, Ruth. I've never seen you naked, never stroked your soft skin, never cupped your beautiful breasts in my hands, never tasted you.”

“Oh, but you have, Harry,” she murmurs huskily. “You've done all that and more in my dreams and daydreams. My breasts fit just perfectly in your hands. Did you know that, Harry?”

“Ruth,” he sighs, his hand moving faster along his length, bringing him closer to the edge.

“Are you touching yourself, Harry?” she murmurs.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Are you hard?”

“Rigid. I've never been harder in my life.”

“That's because I'm licking your shaft now. You taste so good, Harry. And you're so beautiful. I love your cock. It's in my mouth now, hot and hard and perfect. I can feel you slide down the back of my throat.”

His breathing is heavy and he's almost there. He rubs his thumb over his frenulum and he comes with a groan, spilling onto his stomach as he whispers her name.

“Mmmmm, you taste so good, Harry,” she murmurs, “and I love to hear you moan my name like that.”

“Ruth,” he sighs as he stretches out on the bed, feeling his body tingle all over in pleasure. “You're incredible. I haven't climaxed like that in years.”

“I enjoyed that, Harry,” she replies. “You know, this is my first time doing this.”

“Is it? I'm glad to hear that, Ruth,” he murmurs, “though I don't know why I'm surprised that you're so good at it. You're good at everything you do.” He sighs heavily once more and then says huskily, “You're so beautiful, Ruth. I see you lying on the bed, your hair spread out across your pillow, your legs open, one pillow under each bent knee, looking at me with adoring eyes, waiting for me. I lean over you now, my face inches from your tender heat, my warm breath ruffling the dark curls between your legs. I open my mouth, my tongue sliding out slowly, my breathing heavy in anticipation of tasting you for the first time.” He can hear her begin to whimper in excitement and he smiles. “My tongue slides softly, over your folds, your taste exploding in my mouth, and it's sweet and full and I absolutely adore it. My mouth closes over your clit now, sucking gently, my tongue circling the sensitive bud firmly as I slip two fingers inside you, and you're so very wet, Ruth. Slowly at first, I glide them in and out of you, feeling your muscles twitch around them as I lap at your sweet heat with my tongue.”

“Oh, Harry,” she moans. “Faster, harder.”

“My fingers are driving into you, curling inside you as I stroke your most sensitive spots. You buck under me and I hold you down, pressing you into the mattress with my other hand as I suck hard on your clit,” he growls and hears her moan in pleasure, calling out his name as she comes. “And you come, clenching all around my fingers and pulling my head down roughly as you utter my name in total ecstasy.” His breathing is as rugged as hers by now and he's already fully erect again, wanting more, needing to have her here with him.

“Harry,” she breathes in satisfaction and he can picture the tender look in her hooded, sated eyes.

“Oh, Ruth,” he sighs. “How I wish I was really there with you. Do you know what you do to me? I'm already rock solid again. I haven't recovered this fast since I was in my twenties, Ruth.”

She chuckles softly and murmurs, “I can't _wait_ for Saturday, Harry.”

“Neither can I, Ruth,” he sighs. “Neither can I.”


	9. Chapter 9

The phone is ringing, so she walks round the bed to answer it, glancing at the clock to discover that it's almost seven. “Pronto,” she says into the receiver.

“Hello, Ruth,” Harry's voice greets her. “Good. You're home.”

“Hi, Harry,” she smiles. “How are you?”

“Perfect,” he replies, but before she has a chance to say anything the doorbell rings.

“Sorry, that's someone at the door,” she sighs. “Hang on, I'll get rid of them. Don't go away.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he murmurs huskily.

“Good,” she smiles and puts the phone down on the bed before making her way quickly to the front door. She hopes it's not Mario again. She'd broken up with him the day after she'd received Harry's message telling her that her name had been cleared. She'd asked him to meet her for coffee and explained that she'd be leaving soon, going back to the man she loves, and that they couldn't see each other any more. She'd expected him to be a little sad and perhaps angry, and she'd fervently hoped that her suspicions, that had been aroused the night before, would prove to be wrong, but they hadn't. He'd fallen in love with her and the complete desolation on his face had made her feel awful; she'd never intended to break his heart like this. She was fond of him, and had tried to be very patient over the past few days even when he'd called her almost every night. She'd remained firm, however, knowing that anything different would be a betrayal of Harry and her feelings, and would give Mario false hope. He'd tried to call round at her place yesterday, and she'd refused to let him in. Phone calls were one thing, but letting him into her flat when she was alone was quite another. So she hopes this isn't Mario again.

She reaches the door and calls out, “Chi é?” just before she peers through the peep-hole and gasps.

“It's me,” Harry replies, putting his phone back into his pocket and smiling at the door. “And I hope you're not really planning on getting rid of me.”

Impatiently, she slides back the security chain, unlocks the door, and pulls it wide open. “Harry,” she breathes in disbelief.

“I couldn't wait till Saturday,” he murmurs softly, taking a step forwards.

“You're here,” she whispers, still a little stunned as she steps back and he enters her flat. She watches him walk in and look around quickly before placing his holdall on the floor and turning towards her. She pushes the door closed and locks it, turning to face him and saying again, “You're really here.”

“I am,” he nods, looking at her a little apprehensively now.

“Oh, God!” she exclaims, and recovering herself, she throws herself at him, flinging her arms round his neck and holding onto him tightly, feeling his arms snake around her waist. She turns her head towards him, nestling her face into his neck and breathing him in, his familiar scent washing over her and bringing back so many memories at once that she feels quite overpowered. She clings to him for several minutes, fighting back the tears that want to spill from her eyes as relief, joy, and the tension of waiting for this moment for so long overwhelm her.

Once she's manages to bring the emotions coursing through her under control again, she lifts her head, pulling back enough to look up at his face, but still she doesn't speak as she lets her eyes slide over his familiar features, reacquainting herself with his face, noting the changes since the last time she saw him. He's smiling broadly, his expression mirroring her own, his eyes crinkling at the edges and sparkling with joy, and as their gazes meet, she gets lost in his gorgeous, hazel eyes, the same precious eyes that, just a few months ago, she thought she'd never see again.

It's he who speaks first, saying in a low, husky voice, “You look wonderful, Ruth.”

“I feel wonderful now you're here,” she replies and moves her hands to cup his face, remembering the last time she did this and wanting to do it again, knowing that this time she's not kissing him goodbye. When their lips meet, she hears him exhale heavily, just like last time, and feels his arms tighten around her middle, drawing her more firmly against him. She strokes his lower lip with her tongue softly, and he opens his mouth with a groan of pleasure, lifting one of his hands to cradle her head, spreading his fingers through her hair and pulling her so very close. His tongue brushes against hers for the first time, timidly at first and then more firmly, delving deeply into her mouth as their kiss grows in passion and intensity, sending such exquisite bolts of pleasure and desire straight to her core and making her insides melt. She can feel him now, pressing hard against her belly, the end of him pushing insistingly against her navel. She's just marvelling at the size of him and thinking how she'd never realised that he's so well endowed, when she feels him pull back, slowly decreasing the intensity of their kiss, until he lifts his head and looks into her eyes as they slide open once more. They hold each other's gaze while their breathing slows, his fingers softly caressing her face in wonder.

“Ruth,” he murmurs softly, “my Ruth... I love you.”

“I know,” she smiles. “I love you too, Harry.”

“I don't know how I've managed without you for so long,” he whispers. He takes a step back to admire her and says, “You look beautiful. Were you going out?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I was just going to go for a walk. I was feeling a little restless, knowing that you'd be arriving tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” he insists. “You look too lovely to be just going for a walk.”

She notices his eyes gliding over her figure in admiration and she's pleased that she's wearing her favourite summer dress. She knows she looks good in it. “Well, you know, when in Rome...” She notices his rumpled suit and shirt and asks, “Did you come directly from the Grid?”

“Yes,” he replies. “We finished up the op early today, so I changed my flight, called the DG to inform him that I was leaving a day early, grabbed my bag from the car, and left.”

“You had your bag already packed and in your car?” she asks in surprise.

“Since Wednesday,” he smiles, “and Catherine said she'd take care of the animals. After our first conversation on the phone, I decided that I'd try to wrap up everything early and leave as soon as I could. I couldn't wait to see you, Ruth.”

“I'm so glad you're here, Harry,” she smiles and takes a step closer, taking his hands in hers and kissing his cheek softly. “You must be exhausted though. Why don't you go have a hot, relaxing shower while I get us some food ready?”

“A shower would be good,” he nods.

“What kind of food would you like?” she asks.

“You know me, Ruth,” he replies. “Anything will do. I'm not a fussy eater.”

“How about a walk?” she suggests, “to stretch your legs and we could eat in this lovely little restaurant I know.”

“Sounds good,” he smiles and picks up his bag.

“It's through here,” she says as she turns and leads him down the hall to show him where the bathroom and bedroom are. “I've already emptied this drawer for you to use, and freed up some coat hangers in the wardrobe. The blue towel is yours and there's only one bed, so we'll have to share.”

“I was counting on that,” he murmurs and steps behind her, gently gripping her upper arms with his hands and pulling her against him as he presses a soft kiss to the back of her neck, making her moan.

“So was I,” she sighs as he releases her and steps away again. “Let me know if I've forgotten anything,” she smiles before leaving him in the room alone and going back out to the living room to call and book a table at the restaurant she'd mentioned.

She can feel the desire pumping through her blood stream, her nipples tightening and her vaginal walls clenching and unclenching involuntarily. She'd forgotten quite how strong an effect his proximity has always had on her, and she wonders how she ever managed to stop herself from jumping his bones at every opportunity. She's glad that they've managed to hold themselves back though. Prolonging the anticipation for a few hours will only make their coupling so much better when they finally come together tonight.

The doorbell rings once more, and she sighs as she moves to answer the door, momentarily forgetting herself and opening it without checking who's there.

“Ciao, Tesoro,” Mario greets her softly though he's frowning at her, his eyes looking angry and hurt. “Posso entrare? Volho parlarti.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of Italian
> 
> "Ciao, Tesoro. Posso entrare? Volho parlarti." - "Hello, Treasure. May I enter? I want to talk to you."


	10. Chapter 10

He puts his head under the stream of hot water and lets it cascade down over his body, draining away the tension from the last few days on the grid. He lets his mind empty of all thought, relaxing each muscle in turn and letting the hot water sooth his tired body for several minutes. Then he opens his eyes and begins to wash himself, starting with his hair and moving on to the rest quickly. He lets his thoughts wonder and they inevitably settle on Ruth, the feel of her in his arms, her full lips against his, her soft breasts pressing against his chest, his hands gliding over her perfectly rounded bottom.

Barely two seconds after his thoughts settle on her, he's got a raging erection, and he briefly contemplates wanking himself off in the hope that it'll tame his reaction to her. After all, he can't go walking around Verona with a stiffy all evening. On the other hand, he doesn't want to detract from the intensity of his orgasm as surely will be the case if he bangs one out now. He wants their first time to be memorable in every way possible, so he steps out of the shower and towels himself off, hoping that he'll be able to exercise his self-control for a little while longer. It had been so hard to pull out of that passionate kiss in the hallway and to step back from her just now in the bedroom where the bed had been so enticingly close, beckoning to him. He's actually rather proud of himself for managing to pull back from the edge like that.

He shaves and brushes his teeth before returning to the bedroom to dress. When he comes back out a few minutes later and makes his way through to the sitting room, he's wearing light cotton trousers and a white, polo shirt.

It takes him a few moments to spot Ruth, standing on the balcony with a handsome, dark haired man, speaking in Italian. His grasp of the language isn't great, but he notes the way he's leaning in towards her and understands enough of their words to surmise that they're lovers. His heart drops down to his knees as he listens and he has to momentarily lean against the wall for support, the pain leaving him breathless.

“Ti amo, Tesoro,” the man is saying and he reaches to grasp her hand. “Per favore, dammi un'altra opportunità per farti felice.”

“No! Basta, Mario,” she replies, pulling her hand away. “Ho ascoltato tutto quello che volevi dire ma non cambierò idea. Mi dispiace, ma io non ti amo. Non ti ho mai amato. Sempre amavo lui. Vai via, per favore.”

“Ma lui e vecchio,” Mario insists as he takes her hand in his again, “e tu sei giovane e così bella. Lui non ti merita.”

“Lasciami!” she demands, shaking her hand free and turning to re-enter the flat, her eyes flashing in barely controlled fury. But as her eyes meet his when she steps through the balcony door, he sees them soften, pleading with him to wait and let her explain. Everything about her body language and words is telling him that, whatever this is, it's one sided; she doesn't want this man here... there or anywhere. So schooling his face into an unreadable mask and squaring his shoulders, he steps away from the wall, moving forwards into the room in an assertive, slightly threatening manner, so that he's clearly visible now.

As Mario follows Ruth in from the balcony, he grabs her shoulder and spins her round to face him, clutching her upper arms tightly in his hands as he pulls her towards him and demands, “Ma perché? Perché non mi ami? Stiamo così bene insieme. Non si può aver dimenticato quanto fosse bello fare l'amore insieme. Sono pazzo di te. Non lo vedi? Ma che cosa devo fare?”

“Lasciami, Mario. Mi fai male,” she says softly, while Harry takes a few steps forwards, his eyes narrowing in anger, his lips forming a grim line, and his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The movement in his peripheral vision has Mario stop short and turn his head towards him, pulling Ruth to the side but not letting go of her arm as he turns to face his adversary.

“Get your hands off her,” Harry growls menacingly. Mario hesitates for a moment as if sizing Harry up, so he continues speaking, trying to provoke a reaction out of him, wanting, needing to vent his feelings in a good, old fashioned fist fight, but knowing that Ruth won't forgive him easily if he's the one to start it. “Go on. Give me an excuse. Give me a good excuse to redecorate your perfect, pretty boy face.”

“Harry!” Ruth exclaims in alarm.

“Stay out of this, Ruth,” he says without even looking at her, taking another step forwards and addressing the man in Italian this time. “Lasciala,” he demands. “Subito!”

The sound of Harry speaking to him in his own tongue seems to bring Mario to his senses, and he quickly drops his hands to his sides, turning his palms towards Harry in a gesture of surrender, while Ruth takes a few steps away from him. Harry clenches his jaw in anger, keeping a tight lid on his temper despite his desperate need to let loose on someone. He forces himself to breathe deeply, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides and stepping back, clearing a path to the front door.

“Vai via, Mario. Non voglio vederti mai,” Ruth says firmly.

“Va bene,” he sighs in defeat as he turns towards her, casting one more forlorn look at her before walking past her towards the door while Harry still watches him like a hawk. As he passes by Harry, however, he pauses and turns to him, asking, “Lei l'ama?”

“Yes,” Harry replies in a calm, level voice, the pain he sees in Mario's eyes serving to slowly dispel his anger. After all, he knows exactly what it feels like to lose Ruth, and it seems that this man truly is in love with her despite the fact that he is young and does not yet know that true love is selfless.

“Prendasi cura di lei,” he murmurs before turning to go. “Lei é un tesoro.” Perhaps he does know something about it after all, Harry thinks as he watches him walk to the door, open it, and step through it. Then he turns, and looking at Ruth, says softly, “Ciao, Bella. Io ti amerò sempre. Sia felice.”

“Ciao,” she replies and watches as he turns sadly away.

Harry swiftly steps forwards and closes the door, locking it and taking a deep, steadying breath before slowly turning to face her. Now that Ruth is no longer in danger, the pain he'd experienced when he saw them together is coming back with a vengeance, and as their eyes meet, he's not sure if he can keep it hidden from her searching gaze.

“I'm sorry, Harry,” she whispers eventually. “He's... um... He _was_ my lover... before... but I broke up with him when I knew you were coming.”

“Five days ago?” he asks softly, still feeling hurt and vulnerable and hating his own weakness.

“Yes... no. I... he... We hadn't... been together in over three weeks. I just didn't tell him it was over until last week,” she murmurs, lowering her gaze to her hands. “It didn't mean anything,” she defends and he wonders at how much it still feels like a betrayal even if he knows that it most likely is the truth. He'd said the same thing himself many times to Jane. It was just a fuck, it didn't mean anything. “It sounds so stupid now... When you wrote to me, when you told me you'd clear my name, I wanted to break it off with him then. I wanted to wait for you but... stupidly, I told myself that, if I did that, I'd go mad waiting. I _knew_ it would take months, and I knew I couldn't survive being in limbo like that... not again. So I kept going, telling myself that I needed the routine, the normalcy, the mental and physical release.” She raises her eyes to look at him and continues, “Only, after a little while, I didn't want it any more. I only wanted you... When you wrote to me, telling me you'd succeeded and were ready to come and get me, I broke it off the very next morning. But apparently, he'd fallen in love with me though, when we'd first met, he'd also been looking just for sex.” She pauses and her eyes are pleading with him to understand. “Please tell me you're not going to leave now. Please tell me I haven't destroyed my only chance at happiness. I've never loved anyone but you. In the beginning, I tried to move on, but I couldn't. That's when I decided that I just needed sex. You must have needed it too. I can't imagine you've led a celibate existence since I left, have you?”

He shakes his head and can see the relief in her eyes. “No, Ruth. I haven't,” he says. He sighs and rubs his hand across his forehead, pulling it down over his face before admitting, “You're right. It took a long time to clear your name, and in that time, I too had lovers, but there's been no one since we started writing to each other. We were getting closer to finding the evidence we needed, and I just didn't feel like taking anyone else to bed. But... I understand that you didn't have that information, that _I_ didn't give it to you in order to avoid giving you false hope if there was a setback.” He sees her eyes light up with hope, so he smiles and adds, “How about that walk then?”

“Yes,” she nods, smiling softly and blinking back the tears that spring to her eyes. “Just... give me a moment.” Then she turns and disappears into the bathroom.

Her arguments are very logical and his brain is telling him that he can't hold it against her, but he can't help the irrational jealousy that's raging inside him even though it's clear from the conversation he's just overheard that, for Ruth, the relationship with Mario is well and truly over. He realises that he hadn't considered the possibility that Ruth would have had lovers during her time away, and he has to admit that he was rather daft not to. There's no reason why she wouldn't or shouldn't have had them. Even when she was back in England, before they'd acknowledged their feelings for each other, she'd probably had lovers. He certainly had and there was no reason to suppose that she was any different from him, a little more timid perhaps and less sure of herself, but fundamentally the same as everyone, needing the closeness with another warm body.

He realises that he never thought of Ruth as someone who'd have sex just for the sake of the physical release. He always assumed she'd need the emotional connection too, but from his own experience, he knows that it's possible to get those two things from two different people. He's been doing that for years after all, and now he thinks about it, in all probability, so has Ruth. He remembers what it was like in those first few years with Jane when the two had been connected for him. It had been quite wonderful, and as he considers how much stronger the love he has for Ruth is by comparison, he finds himself suddenly impatient to experience it again.

He turns his eyes towards her approaching figure and decides that he's not going to think about Mario any more. He has the woman of his dreams right here, he's in Italy with her, and tonight he's going to make passionate love to her so that she forgets everything but his name. Having thus made up his mind, he turns to her and offers her his arm as he murmurs with a smile, “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of Italian
> 
> "Ti amo, Tesoro. Per favore, dammi un'altra opportunità per farti felice." - "I love you, Treasure. Please give me another opportunity to make you happy."
> 
> "No! Basta, Mario. Ho ascoltato tutto quello che volevi direma non cambierò idea. Mi dispiace, ma io non ti amo. Non ti ho mai amato. Sempre amavo lui. Vai via, per favore." - "No! Enough, Mario. I've listened to everything you wanted to say and I'm not going to change my mind. I'm sorry, but I don't love you. I've never loved you. I've always loved him. Go away, please."
> 
> "Ma lui e vecchio e tu sei giovane e così bella. Lui non ti merita." - "But he is old and you are young and so beautiful. He doesn't deserve you."
> 
> "Lasciami!" - "Let me go!"
> 
> "Ma perché? Perché non mi ami? Stiamo così bene insieme. Non si può aver dimenticato quanto fosse bello fare l'amore insieme. Sono pazzo di te. Non lo vedi? Che cosa devo fare?" - "But why? Why don't you love me? We are so good together. You can't have forgotten how good it was to make love together. I'm crazy about you. Can't you see it? What do I need to do?"
> 
> "Lasciami, Mario. Mi fai male," - "Let me go, Mario. You're hurting me."
> 
> "Lasciala. Subito!" - "Let her go. Now!"
> 
> "Vai via, Mario. Non voglio vederti mai." - "Go away, Mario. I don't want to see you again."
> 
> "Va bene." - "Okay."
> 
> "Lei l'ama?" - "Do you love her?"
> 
> "Prendasi cura di lei. Lei é un tesoro." - "Take care of her. She's a treasure."
> 
> "Ciao, Bella. Io ti amerò sempre. Sia felice." - "Goodbye, beautiful. I will always love you. Be happy."


	11. Chapter 11

The meal's delicious and the company even better, the awkward moment created by Mario's appearance earlier all but forgotten. Now, they're strolling through the streets of Verona, arm in arm, enjoying the warm night and taking in the sights of the city by moonlight. They pass by Juliet's balcony, and though of course they can't go in at this time of night, they still stop to look at it.

“We'll come back during the day tomorrow,” she says. “Then we can go inside.”

 

_“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?_

_It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!_

_Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,_

_Who is already sick and pale with grief_

_That thou her maid art far more fair than she,_ ” he quotes softly.

 

“Impressive, Harry,” she smiles. “Perhaps tomorrow we can give a performance for all the tourists at Juliet's balcony.”

“Not really my style, Ruth,” he winks. “Any performances I give are given in private.”

“Is that so?” she replies. “And what does one need to do to be invited to such a performance?”

“I'm sure you'll figure it out, Ruth,” he smirks. “You're a very intelligent woman.”

“Why, thank you, Harry,” she grins as they resume walking and she steers them back home.

When they get there, she unlocks the door and enters, leaving Harry to close and lock it behind them while she makes her way to the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, “If you'd like some whisky, Harry, I bought some yesterday. It's in the second cupboard on the right in the kitchen. Get us each a glass, will you?”

When she returns to the room, he's sitting in the arm chair with two glasses of whisky perched on the coffee table in front of him. He's leaning back, his head tilted upwards, and his eyes are closed. She watches him for a few seconds, taking him in, admiring him, marvelling at how sexy he looks without even trying. Then quietly, she walks over to her iPod docking station and turns it on, slipping her iPod into it and selecting the playlist entitled 'Harry', a collection of songs that always remind her of him. As she dims the lights and turns to face him, the first notes of 'Never had a dream come true' begin to play and she notices that his eyes are no longer closed; he's watching her.

Swaying her hips, gently to the rhythm of the song, she moves towards him, leaning down over him, running her hands smoothly up from his knees to his hips and back. His hands reach for her, but she steps back shaking her head and murmuring, “No touching, Harry.” She watches as he lowers his hands back to the arm rests, watching her intently as she continues to move, slowly unzipping her dress and letting it slip down her body, gradually revealing her smooth, tanned skin, and her white, lacy bra and matching underwear. She can hear his breathing change as she steps out of the dress that's pooled at her ankles and turns away from him, bending over to pick it up with her back towards him, giving him an enticing view of her bum before straightening up slowly and flinging the dress onto a nearby chair. She turns around and walks back to him, bending over to pick up her glass of whisky and giving him a tantalizing view of her cleavage.

“Ruth,” he moans and she can see him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Poor, baby,” she murmurs, and taking a sip of her drink, she puts the glass down and approaches him, gliding her hands over his thighs again towards his crotch.

“Ruth,” he sighs as her hands slip to his belt and begin to undo it before moving on to the button and zip of his trousers.

“That's better,” she smiles as his erection pushes up out of the confines of his trousers, still cloaked by the material of his boxer shorts.

She sits across his lap then and leans forwards, kissing his soft lips but pulling back quickly, moving off his lap and standing again, walking away as she removes her bra with her back towards him. He's panting now in anticipation as slowly she turns and he gets his first glimpse of her naked breasts.

“Oh, God, Ruth,” he growls. “You're gorgeous. Come here.”

“Only if you promise not to touch,” she smiles.

His gaze turns fierce as he protests, “This is torture, Ruth.”

“There will be ample compensation if you trust me,” she smiles and waits until he nods before moving towards him. She picks up a glass of whisky on the way, and slipping out of her heels, she straddles him once more, making sure to sit far enough back on his legs so that she's not touching his groin. Then she dips two fingers in the whisky and lets the drops fall onto her breasts. They slide along her skin and collect on her nipples as she sucks her fingers clean and slowly rises onto her knees, placing her hands on his shoulders and leaning forwards, towards his mouth. It's already open in anticipation and both of their breathing is heavy as the moment of first contact between them approaches.

But apparently, Harry's decided that two can play at this game of teasing, so he takes his time, using the very tip of his tongue to lap up the whisky, his tongue barely making contact with her skin. She pulls back and drips more whisky onto her breasts, spreading it around this time so that it's everywhere, but still he resists giving her what she wants. His licks are swift and far between and it's driving her crazy. With a frustrated moan, she pulls back, standing in front of him as she downs the remaining whisky and places the glass back on the table. She sees the satisfied smirk on his lips and watches with gratification as it disappears when she bends over him, her hand slowly tugging on his boxer shorts until his hardness pops out of the opening without her touching him.

“Mmmm,” she hums in appreciation as she kneels before him. “Not only are you gorgeous, Harry, but you're huge too.”

“Ruth,” he moans, closing his eyes as she lowers her mouth towards him, bathing him in her warm breath and licking him gently, fleetingly like he'd done to her a moment ago. He groans loudly, wantonly, desperately, and it's her undoing. For a fleeting second, she realises that she's lost the game of self-control that they've started, that she's the one to break first. She's not surprised by this really, and less then a second later, she doesn't even care.

With a sigh of pleasure, she grabs his hips with her hands and takes him into her mouth, letting him slide into her as deeply as she can manage, feeling him hit the back of her throat and sucking on him hard, before sliding him out again and repeating her motion, enjoying the sheer pleasure of it more with every stroke. Her hands move to join her mouth in its pleasureful game, her left hand grabbing hold of his shaft and twisting around it, her right slipping through the opening of his boxers and gently cupping his balls that are already nestled tightly against his body. His breathing is harsh now and she can tell that he's close without needing to hear his verbal warning.

“Ruth, I'm so close,” he moans, his hands threading through her hair and tugging her head up, but she resists and doesn't stop until she feels his pelvic floor muscles contract and his semen pulse through his penis, spilling into her mouth. He groans loudly and whispers her name as he comes, just like he'd done over the phone earlier in the week.

“Mmmm,” she hums. “You taste delicious too.”

His eyes are closed and he sighs contentedly as she presses a soft kiss against him and raises herself off her knees, standing before him and feeling very pleased with herself. Then she grabs the other whisky glass off the table and straddles him, taking a sip of the drink as she watches his eyelids slide open. She smiles at the contented expression on his face, feeling her heart burn with love for him as he gazes at her, his eyelids drooping slightly, and his gaze warm and loving.

“Now,” she murmurs, “was that good enough to get an invitation to one of your performances?”

He chuckles softly and replies, “That'll get you into several, Ruth.”

She dips her fingers into the glass and begins to smear the whisky over her breasts again, and this time, he doesn't hold back. She sees the change in his eyes as the look of lazy contentment is quickly replaced by passion. He dips his head forwards as his arms slip behind her, his warm hands sliding up her back as his mouth comes down on her breasts, his tongue lapping up the whisky with long, firm stokes, starting from the outside and working his way towards her nipple until, eventually, he sucks it into his warm mouth.

“Oh, Harry,” she sighs, feeling the hot tendrils of desire radiate out from her core as she leans back against his strong arms, arching her back and pressing her chest towards him.

“Is this the spot, Ruth?” he murmurs against her skin before pressing his tongue and lips to the spot just below the nipple of her left breast.

“Oh, yes,” she breathes, sliding her right hand through his hair and pulling him down towards her while she desperately tries to concentrate on not spilling the whisky.

“Here,” he murmurs after a bit, lifting his head and taking it from her hand. He tips the rest into his mouth and places the empty glass on the table before pulling her towards him for a kiss. She parts her lips below his and feels the whisky rush into her mouth from his, coating her tongue with fire. She pulls back in surprise and swallows, seeing him do the same and hearing him say in a low rumble, “I need you in bed.”

She lifts herself off his lap slowly as he refastens his trousers, her hands still resting on his shoulders, but the moment her feet touch the floor and he can raise himself from the armchair, she feels his strong arms wrap round her and lift her off the ground. Her arms tighten their grip instinctively as her legs wrap round his middle.

“Kiss me,” he growls and she does, pressing her lips to his as he begins to walk slowly towards the bedroom, his hands cupping her bottom, his fingers sliding round to rub against her wet folds through her lacy knickers, his tongue delving into her mouth.

“Christ, Ruth,” he murmurs against her neck as they reach the bed and tumble onto it. “You're soaking wet.”

“I'm always soaking wet when I'm near you,” she replies and moans as his hands, lips, tongue, and teeth, begin to explore her skin, nipping and sucking on her neck before moving lower, to her breasts, her stomach, her navel, her hips. By the time he reaches her inner thighs, she's writhing with every touch, twisting her body round to try to get him to move his oh-so-talented mouth to the throbbing slickness between her legs. “Please, Harry,” she begs.

 

* * *

 

She's so very sexy and beautiful with her face flushed, her eyes closed, and her lower lip caught gently between her teeth as she moans softly. He pulls back a little to admire her before sliding two fingers along her folds over her damp knickers, watching her squirm under his touch as he moves along achingly slowly, her hands grabbing fistfuls of the bed covers as she tilts her pelvis towards his touch.

“Please,” she begs again and gasps as his fingertips brush against her tight bundle of nerves.

“You're exquisite, Ruth,” he murmurs huskily. “I've thought about this, imagined it so many times, but the reality is so much better. You take my breath away.”

She whimpers softly as his fingers slide back over her and moans, “Please, Harry,” opening her eyes to look at him. He's unable to look away as their gazes meet, the intensity of the passion he sees in her eyes rendering him incapable of coherent thought. As if being reeled in by an invisible fishing line, he feels himself move forwards, leaning over her until his lips are pressed against hers, his forearms supporting his weight and his hands sliding into her hair, cradling her head and holding her captive as he devours her with his lips and grinds himself against her. He's still wearing all his clothes except for his shoes, but he doesn't even register this as he slides his hardness over her tender heat repeatedly, his lust filled mind unable to stop or process anything but the exquisite bliss of having her beneath him like this. Then he feels her shudder below him, moaning into his mouth as she comes, her hands clutching at his shoulders as her orgasm overtakes her, and it brings him back to his senses.

He lifts his head to look at her, watching her face as it relaxes, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping her lips, and when her eyelids part and she looks up at him, a small smile plays on her lips. “Wow,” is all she says, but the tenderness in her warm, sated gaze makes his heart overflow and he suddenly feels on top of the world.

“ _My heart is ever at your service,_ ” he quotes Shakespeare softly, watching as her face lights up with a warm, delighted smile.

 

“ _My bounty is as boundless as the sea,_

_My love as deep. The more I give to thee,_

_The more I have, for both are infinite_ ,” she replies.

 

He grins and murmurs, “ _Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!_

 _For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night._ ”

 

“A true Shakespeare connoisseur,” she smiles and then adds softly, “ _I would not wish any companion in the world but you._ ”

 

“ _I love you more than words can wield the matter,_

 _Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty_ ,” he replies and seeing her about to open her mouth to speak again, he silences her with a kiss.

When they come up for air, she protests, “You use very unfair tactics, Harry.”

“All's fair in love and war,” he murmurs near her ear, nibbling on her ear lobe. “Besides, you have to let me win sometimes, Ruth. Even though we both know that you're smarter, stronger, and much better looking than me, I am a man and I need my ego stroked from time to time.”

“Would it help if I confessed that, _that_ was the best orgasm I've ever had?” she smiles.

“It would indeed, Ruth,” he murmurs against her lips. “In fact, that's even better than letting me win our little Shakespeare competition just now.”

She laughs softly and slips her arms round his neck, pulling him towards her for a kiss. Her lips part below his and her tongue ventures out to brush softly against his, her fingers tangling in his hair. He kisses her back, bringing his tongue forwards to dance with hers, running his thumbs along her jaw and pressing himself against her again. He feels her hands slip down to his shoulders through the collar of his shirt, her nails scrapping against his skin and making him groan in pleasure. When he pulls away for air, she slides her hands down his sides, grabbing hold of his shirt and tugging it upwards as she murmurs, “Take this off, Harry. I need to feel you.”

“Okay,” he smiles and pushes himself off her, pulling his shirt over his head before leaning over her once more, bringing his mouth to her breasts, caressing them with his lips and tongue as she runs her nails across his shoulders, making him almost shiver with pleasure.

“Oh, Harry,” she moans softly as he sucks gently on her nipple, “I want you. I want you now, Harry.”

“In a moment,” he murmurs against her skin. “There's something I have to do first, something I've wanted to do for years.”

“What's that?” she asks breathlessly.

“I want to taste you,” he smiles as he lifts his head up to look at her. Her breathing changes, her eyes darkening further with desire as he slowly crawls backwards down the bed without breaking eye contact with her. Soon she's panting in anticipation as he gently pushes her legs open, murmuring, “Open up for me, Sweetheart.”

“Harry,” she breathes as he runs the back of his knuckles along her folds over her lacy underwear.

“Yes, my Ruth?” he murmurs, dipping his finger underneath the elastic of her knickers at the leg opening and sliding it gently over her slick heat.

“Please, Harry,” she begs, whimpering softly and lifting her pelvis towards his touch.

“You were right, my love,” he says huskily, running his finger back up across her folds before dipping it slowly into her warm core and making her moan. “Increasing the anticipation makes the event so much better... amazing, in fact... like waiting to open a Christmas present, carefully peeling back the tape without tearing the paper, waiting until all of it has been removed before slowly unwrapping it to reveal the most exquisite sight of all.” He pulls his finger out again and begins to lower his mouth towards her tender heat, whispering, “Next time I do this, Ruth, it will no longer be the first time. I'll already know your sweet taste, your perfect beauty, your exquisite fragrance. I will love it just as much, but it won't be my first time. And this first time is so very special.” He opens his mouth and exhales softly against her, and he can hear her whimper as he closes the gap and sucks on her clit through the thin material of her knickers.

“Oh, Harry,” she cries, bringing her hands to his head and pushing him firmly towards her.

He brings his hand forwards and pushes aside her panties, admiring her beauty for a few moments before he begins to lick her, lapping up her juices with delight, loving her taste, her smell, her cries of approval. “Mmm,” he hums. “You taste so good, Ruth. I can't get enough of you.”

He dips his tongue into her entrance and she moans in pleasure, so he repeats it again and again, slowly at first and then faster until he can tell that she's close to tumbling over her second peak. Then he slides his fingers slowly into her and curls them forwards as he sucks hard on her clit, sending her straight over the edge and making her cry out in ecstasy as she shudders beneath his lips, moaning his name.

Pulling out of her slowly and raising his head to look at her, he's struck by her beauty. Her eyes are closed, her cheeks and lips flushed, her hair spread across the pillow. He's imagined her like this so many times, and yet the reality is so much more dazzling and precious that it takes his breath away. He stands up and quickly strips out of the rest of his clothes before reaching down and pulling her knickers off. Her eyes open as she feels them slip down her legs and he experiences a new surge of passion when he sees her luminous, blue eyes gazing adoringly up at him.

“Ruth,” he murmurs, “I want you. I'm aching to be inside you. Do you want me to use a condom?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not you, Harry. I want to feel you, all of you, everywhere. I'm on the pill and I got tested this week. I'm clean.”

“So am I,” he smiles and kisses her lips softly.

“That was amazing,” she sighs.

He hovers over her, smiling before murmuring softly, “If you think that was amazing, wait until you feel this.” Then he presses himself slowly into her, hearing her low moan of pleasure and feeling her vaginal muscles ripple around him, hugging him tightly. He pulls out slowly and nudges back in, pushing in a little deeper, before repeating the motion, gently stretching her until she can accommodate all of him.

“Oh, God, Harry,” she sighs as he pauses inside her. “You feel so good. You're so large and thick.”

“I'm glad you like it,” he replies, sliding his fingers through the silky strands of her hair.

“Are you kidding?” she asks in surprise. “What's there not to like?”

“I have been told that I'm a little _too_ large on a number of occasions,” he explains huskily.

“Well, this isn't going to be one of them,” she sighs, squeezing him tightly inside her. “You're just perfect.”

“Ruth,” he murmurs softly, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, “my Ruth.” Then he starts to move, gently sliding in and out of her as their gazes remain locked together and she tilts her pelvis up to meet him, her fingers caressing his back, his shoulders, his neck, his chest. She looks so beautiful, her eyes soft and full of love, her face flushed and glowing with happiness and desire. “I love you, my Ruth,” he whispers and kisses her lips tenderly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she smiles as she runs gentle fingers across his cheek, tracing the lines around his mouth, running her thumb across his lips. “Why did it take us so long, Harry?” she asks softly.

He stills inside her, resting a moment as he gazes at her with adoring eyes. “I don't know,” he murmurs. “I've wanted this for so long.”

“Is this all you want, Harry?” she asks, her eyes scanning his face, searching his gaze.

“You know it's not,” he replies with a soft smile. “When it comes to you, Ruth, I want everything.”

“Everything?” she asks.

“Yes, everything,” he nods. “Your heart, your body, your soul.”

“My soul?” she smiles.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “You complete me, Ruth. I never believed in soul-mates until I met you... and lost you. But now I know you are my soul-mate and I need you to be happy; I'm empty without you. I have nothing to live for, nothing to fight for, nothing to keep me going.”

“I never realised quite how romantic you are, Harry,” she murmurs softly, following the lines of his jaw back to his ears with gentle fingers and running them through the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

“Just don't tell anyone,” he whispers, pressing another kiss against her lips.

“Your secret's safe with me,” she smiles. “So does this mean you want me to come home with you?”

“Yes,” he nods. “I want to share my home with you. I want you to live with me, to stay with me always.”

“I'd love to,” she murmurs and pulls his head down for a deep, passionate kiss.

He begins to move again, slowly gliding in and out of her, feeling her exquisite softness surround him. “You're so perfect, Ruth,” he moans as he picks up the tempo, sliding in deeper and faster.

“Harry,” she groans heavily, her eyes drifting closed with every thrust even as she struggles to keep them open. “Yes, like that. Oh, don't stop.” And he doesn't, moving inside her, fast and hard until, moments later, she comes, gasping for breath as she clenches him tightly inside her, triggering his own release.

He groans as his body tenses and thrusts into her hard, spilling his seed inside her deepest, most secret place and murmuring her name before he stills, his forehead coming to rest against her shoulder as he supports his weight on his forearms, his heart overflowing with love for her. Her fingers trace patterns across his sweat dampened back as they lie still, his lips finding the delicate skin of her neck, pressing soft kisses against it repeatedly while their heart rates and breathing slow. He raises his head then and seeks out her eyes with his own, delighting in the look of pure bliss and devotion that he sees directed at him. Tears of happiness gather in her eyes and one of them rolls down her cheek, so he bends down to kiss it way. “I'm so happy I could burst,” she whispers. “I never knew it could be this good, Harry. I wish I'd never walked away from you. I must have been mad to refuse a second date with you... to refuse this.”

“Not mad, Ruth,” he smiles, slipping gently out of her and rolling them over onto their sides. He gathers her into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, fitting snugly under his chin as his hand strokes her hair tenderly. “I didn't do enough to reassure you that what we had was special, that for me it would last a lifetime. It's my fault as much as it is yours, even more so, I think, because I failed to protect you. I let Oliver force our hand and use you to get to me. I should have been prepared for that and I'll never forgive myself for that lapse in judgement. It might have cost us so much more; it might have cost us everything.”

She pulls back to look at him, lifting her hand to trace his face with her fingers once more, smoothing away the wrinkles on his forehead that have appeared as he frowns, and smiling fondly at him. “But it didn't,” she murmurs, “and next time, we'll be ready... I love you so very much, Harry, that I can't even begin to describe it. Somehow even those three little words seem inadequate to express what's in my heart. Thank you for clearing my name, thank you for everything you've done for me, but most of all, Harry, thank you for loving me.”

“I'll always love you, Ruth,” he smiles, kissing the very tip of her nose softly. “The moment I take my last breath, many, many years from now I hope, my last thought will be of you and my heart will be overflowing with love for you.” She smiles and presses her lips to his tenderly. When she pulls back, he quotes, “ _You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought._ ”

“Who said that?” she asks, realising perhaps from his tone that he's quoting.

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,” he replies, “in The White Company.”

“And when's the last time you read that, Harry?” she smiles.

“Oh, I don't know,” he says. “It's been a while, but I've always liked that line. I confess that I memorised it when I was at University, thinking that it would make a very good pick up line.”

“So you've used it before,” she grins in amusement.

“Honestly,” he murmurs, “I can't remember, but if I have, I've never meant it more than I did just now.”

“Like I said,” she sighs happily, “a true romantic, Harry.”

“That's because our souls are made of the same stuff, Ruth,” he smiles and presses a kiss to her hair.

“Catherine showed you the postcard I sent,” she laughs.

“Yes,” he admits. “I think that perhaps my daughter's also a romantic. That's the reason she gave for agreeing to see you... because your words were so romantic.”

“She's very much like you,” she agrees. “I really like her.”

“I assure you the feeling's mutual,” he murmurs. “She said you're lovely and that you're very good for me.”

She smiles up at him, her gaze scanning his face lovingly, and then asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies innocently.

“What else did she say about me?” she asks, reading the fact that he's holding something back with so much ease that it alarms him a little.

He sighs and murmurs grudgingly, “If you must know, she said that you make me soft and cuddly.”

“You are soft and cuddly, Harry, especially around the middle,” she agrees, squeezing her arm round his waist. “Like a great, big teddy bear.”

“Thanks a lot, Ruth,” he says sarcastically. “That's just what every man wants to hear.”

“And a knight in shining armour,” she amends, “who valiantly rallies against all odds, fighting for the honour and protecting the life of his beloved lady.”

“I like the sound of that, Ruth,” he grins and presses a fierce kiss to her lips. “Will you be my lady?”

“You know I will,” she smiles.

“Lady Pearce?” he asks quickly in a moment of daring.

She frowns and searches his gaze carefully for several moments before she says, “Well, there would be two prerequisites for that, Harry.”

“Which are?” he murmurs a little breathlessly.

“Firstly, you'd need to be knighted,” she replies, “and secondly, you'd need to propose.”

“And what do you think your answer might be if I did?” he asks, hiding his nerves as best he can.

“I think I might be persuaded to accept in time,” she smiles. “It's perhaps a little soon now, after two dates and one night of passion, but after living with you for a little while, I'm sure I'll be very happy to consider the proposal.”

He grins and presses another fiercely intense kiss to her lips. “You make me very happy, Ruth,” he murmurs.

“I'm glad,” she smiles. Then she looks at him shrewdly and adds, “You already have the knighthood, don't you?”

“What makes you say that?” he asks in surprise.

“The fact that you brought it up,” she replies. “I know the contempt you have for titles, Harry. The only reason you would have mentioned it is if you've already got one, most likely against your expressed wishes, in spite of your very vocal protests, and with your very reluctant, eventual consent.” Then she smiles, and wiggling her eyebrows, she asks, “So have I just been shagged by a knight of the realm, Harry?”

A warm, delighted laugh escapes him at her words, and he sighs happily as he pulls her close, murmuring, “I do love you so very much, my Ruth.”

“I love you too, Sir Harry,” she murmurs against his chest.

“Just Harry, Ruth,” he smiles. “There's no need to be formal.”

“Maybe there's no need, Harry,” she grins, “but I happen to think it's rather sexy. Sir Henry James Pearce, what is it? KBE?”

“Yes,” he admits quietly, “and if you think it's sexy, then perhaps it isn't as useless or as much of a waste of time as I'd originally thought.”

She cuddles up to him and murmurs sleepily, “Everything about you is sexy, Harry. Surely you've noticed how women seem to flock to your side. I'm still somewhat amazed that I'm the one you've chosen.”

“I've been waiting for you all my life, Ruth,” he replies. “The one woman who sees me, who I really am, and still wants me and loves me. I don't have to hide any parts of me from you, Ruth. Given what I do for a living, you must know how important that is to me.”

“Are you telling me that you have no secrets from me?” she asks in disbelief.

“No,” he reluctantly shakes his head. “I'm telling you that you know some of the worst things I've done and are still lying next to me, loving me, wanting to share your life with me.”

“Yes, well,” she smiles, “the sex _was_ rather spectacular, Harry.”

He laughs in delight, holding her close and marvelling at his luck, and after a few minutes of silence he suggests, “Let's get in bed, Ruth.”

“Mmmm,” she hums sleepily.

“Come on,” he smiles. “We're still lying on top of the covers.” Then he releases her gently and gets up, pulling the covers on his side back. She hums again and rolls over onto his side of the bed, making him chuckle softly as he walks round the bed and pulls back the rest of the covers. He gets in and lies down next to her, pulling the top sheet over them and watching her peaceful, contented face for a few moments, struggling to control the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him, before turning off the light, reaching for her hand, closing his eyes, and drifting off into a long, restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from Shakespeare
> 
> "But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?  
> It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!  
> Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,  
> Who is already sick and pale with grief  
> That thou her maid art far more fair than she." - Romeo & Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2
> 
> "My heart is ever at your service." - Timon of Athens, Act 1, Scene 2
> 
> "My bounty is as boundless as the sea,  
> My love as deep. The more I give to thee,  
> The more I have, for both are infinite" - Romeo & Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2
> 
> "Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!  
> For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night." - Romeo & Juliet, Act 1, Scene 5
> 
> "I would not wish any companion in the world but you." - The Tempest, Act 3, Scene 1
> 
> "I love you more than words can wield the matter,  
> Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty" - King Lear, Act 1, Scene 1


	12. Chapter 12

_Six months later_

 

“So is it a blue moon tonight?” she asks as she turns to look at him.

“Why do you ask?” he smiles across at her.

“Well, there's been no red flash yet, no last minute meeting, no bombs exploded, no assassination attempts were made, the threat level's lower than it has been in three months,” she replies, ticking the things she mentions off on her fingers, “in short, we successfully managed to get out of the office early to go on a date that you've been planning for, how long?”

“Over two months,” he admits.

“Two months!” she exclaims.

“Since Christmas,” he confirms. “It's the anniversary of our first date today, Ruth.”

“I know _that,_ Harry,” she smiles. “Does this mean you're going to do the bread roll dance again?”

“If you wish,” he chuckles.

“I do wish,” she sighs happily. “It was my favourite part of the evening... that and the part when you pretty much admitted that I was the companion you wanted to bring along on your Grand Tour. It scared the hell out of me at the time, but it warmed my heart on many a cold night long after the moment had passed.” She feels his hand slide onto her thigh and she smiles as she covers it with her own, turning to look at him.

“My favourite part,” he confesses, “was when I dropped you off at home and you let me kiss you.”

“Mmmm,” she hums. “Our first kiss. It was so electric, despite being quite brief and chaste, that I thought I was going to melt like wax and get washed away by the rain. It's funny, I remember thinking that at the time. It was raining in sheets, remember?”

“I do,” he laughs. “I think Ian thought I'd finally lost it when I got out of the car at home and just stood there in the rain for several moments with my face turned up towards the sky. Eventually, he actually asked me if I was all right.”

“And then I had to go and ruin it all,” she sighs.

He squeezes her thigh gently and says, “You've more than made up for it since then, my love.”

“It's sweet of you to say that,” she smiles.

“It's true,” he grins and then drops his voice as he whispers, “The other night, for instance, that thing you did with your tongue-”

“Harry!” she interrupts as she feels her body begin to heat up at the memory.

“What?” he asks innocently. “I'm just saying I enjoyed it very, _very_ much, Ruth.”

“I thought you might,” she smiles as she turns to look out the window, adding, “I enjoyed doing it to you very, _very_ much.”

“Good,” he grins, “because tonight, it's my turn to enjoy giving you pleasure.”

Her breath catches in her throat at his words and she turns her head towards him sharply, but he's looking out the window, a small smile playing on his lips as he squeezes her thigh once more before leaning forwards, tapping on the glass partition, and saying to his driver, “Just here will be fine, Ian.”

They've reached their destination is seems, so she slams the door on further thoughts of what Harry might do to her in bed tonight and picks up her handbag, preparing to leave the car.

Ian pulls the car over and Harry turns to her, murmuring, “Shall we?”

“Yes,” she smiles and follows Harry out of the car, letting him take her hand to help her. Then he turns and closes the door, and she hears him politely dismiss his driver for the night. They walk down the road for a few blocks, arm in arm, enjoying their close proximity and the companionable silence that settles over them despite the winter chill in the air. Then Harry steers her towards the Ritzy Brixton, smiling down at her as she exclaims, “Oh, I haven't been here since before I left!”

“I know,” he replies.

They enter and pick up their tickets to see the special screening of the 1995 film of Persuasion, and when she realises what they're going to watch, she feels her insides melt and her heart overflow with love for him. She squeezes his arm gently as the attendant hands over the tickets, and as soon as they take a few steps away from the box office, she stops walking. He turns to look at her with a puzzled frown that turns into a small smile as she steps in front of him and murmurs, “You sweet, sweet, incredibly romantic man.” Then she presses a soft kiss against his lips.

“I happened to notice that they were playing it here when I was looking for a place to take you today, and it seemed as if it was meant to be,” he confesses quietly.

“Thank you, Harry,” she smiles, gazing at him adoringly. Then her smile turns mischievous as she adds, “But won't you be bored? Last time we attempted to watch this, you fell asleep.”

He chuckles and takes her hand in his as be begins to walk towards the bar, saying, “I thought I'd give it another shot. Last time, I'd had a very long day and about two hours sleep the night before, as you well know, Ruth. Besides, if I get bored with the film, I'll just watch you instead. You know I never tire of doing that and certainly not when you look so incredibly beautiful tonight.” He stops walking and turns to her, adding, “Let me take your coat.”

She smiles and slips out of her coat, letting him take it and drape it over his arm and relishing the admiration she sees in his gaze as it travels up and down her. She'd bought this dress specially for tonight and had enjoyed Harry's reaction when he'd first seen her in it immensely. He'd looked ready to take her back upstairs and straight to bed, and she suspects that, if she hadn't insisted that he wait downstairs for her to change, that's exactly where they'd have ended up.

It's a lovely sapphire, tiered dress which comes to just below her knee and has a v-neckline that is embellished with blue and silver beads. It also has a matching cape with matching embellishments on each shoulder and a cold shoulder design. “You look absolutely stunning, Ruth,” he murmurs softly as he steps close and trails the fingers of his left hand delicately down her arm. She shivers slightly at the touch and feels goosebumps erupt all over her body, her nipples tightening in anticipation. Smirking at her reaction to his touch, he kisses her cheek softly and offers her his arm. “We have half an hour until it's supposed to start and God knows how long until the adverts are over so, how about a grass of wine?”

“Sounds lovely,” she smiles.

 

* * *

 

She watches him sitting across from her, taking another bite of his meal and then wiping his mouth with his napkin. It amazes her that she still finds him so very attractive, so sexy after all these years. Admittedly they've only been together for the last six months, but all she's ever read about love suggests that the warmth she feels low in her belly every time she looks at him should have faded by now. But it hasn't and it surprises her, especially since she knows he feels it too. Perhaps the time they spent fighting their attraction to each other and the time they were forced apart by circumstances has made them both determined to hold onto their love, to make time to nurture it despite their hectic lives. And though they've hit a few snags along the way, she has to admit that, after six months of living together, they're doing much better than she'd ever dared hope.

Adjusting back to life on the grid had been easy for her and she'd slipped into her old role quickly, despite returning just before the whole mess with Yalta had hit the fan. She'd been pleased to be working with Adam, Jo and Malcolm again, and content to be working alongside Connie James, who was a legend after all. Being the boss's partner had been a little harder to deal with, mainly because of the way others treated her, especially those outside the team. But she'd born it as best she could, knowing that she would willingly suffer much worse to be with Harry. Harry had gone out of his way to make it easier for her by making sure his behaviour towards her at work was always professional, even when she'd occasionally veered away from it herself, like when she'd placed a quick kiss against his cheek and told him to be careful right before he'd left the grid with Adam to follow Ros and find out exactly what Yalta had been up to. Ros and Juliet's betrayal had really shaken Harry and she'd been glad that she'd been there to help him through it. Privately she'd been pleased that she'd never really trusted either of them and was glad to see the back of them. She still hasn't managed to entirely forgive Ros for selling her out to Mace, and she's relieved that she no longer has to work with her.

Living together has been wonderful and difficult at the same time. The first few weeks after they'd got back from Italy had been perfect. The closeness they'd enjoyed on their brief vacation had lingered, and almost every moment that they'd spent in private, they'd wanted to be near each other, talking, touching, loving. It had been lovely to have a home together and everything had seemed wonderful for a while. But with time, the warm glow had understandably faded a little, especially with everything that had been going on at work. Harry's hours were very long, and when they got home, it had been hard for both of them to switch off from work. The fact that they spent more time together at work rather than at home, if you didn't count the hours they were asleep, hadn't made things easier on that front.

She'd always known that Harry worked ridiculously long hours, but after the initial joy of sharing their lives had began to wear off, she'd started to resent it a little, not only because she'd ended up doing almost all the housework and taking care of the pets as a result of being the one who was home for longer periods of time, but also because he began to have less time for her. In the beginning, for example, when he got home late, he'd want to be with her, talking, reading or watching the telly together if she was awake, and cuddling up against her or making love if she was already in bed. As the months passed, however, on most nights, he began to just want to spend a few minutes relaxing with a glass of whisky and then go to sleep.

It wasn't that she didn't understand how exhausted he was physically, mentally, and emotionally from the job, or that she'd been naïve enough to expect their life together to remain unaltered as time passed. She'd known that they'd need to find a balance between work, being together, having time alone, and sleeping, but she could sense him slowly pulling away, and perhaps unconsciously, returning to the behaviours that he'd probably indulged in for many years as a bachelor. She'd tried to talk about it with him, but it never seemed to be the right time, and after postponing it for several weeks, she'd had enough. So one night she'd began the discussion, but they'd both been tired, and much to her dismay, it had ended in their biggest argument to date with Harry storming off and not returning home at all that night. She's been unable to sleep without him there, feeling alternately guilty, angry with him, and scared that she'd driven him away forever.

The next morning at work you could have cut the tension between them with a knife, and they'd spent most of the rest of the day avoiding each other, knowing that they couldn't discuss their problems there. She'd left early to go home and spent the evening alone, feeling sorry for herself, waiting for him to come home, but when eleven o'clock had come and gone and there was still no sign of him, she'd decided that enough was enough and had gone back to the Grid to confront him. She'd found him there, still working on his paperwork, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she needed him at home to talk about this, and she'd lost it and flown into a rage. He'd stood up and calmly ordered her to stop, saying that this was neither the time, nor the place for this discussion, and when she'd failed to do so, he'd simply grabbed her by the arm and pulled her with him, saying curtly, “Roof. Now!”

Once on the roof, in typical female fashion, she'd vented all her frustrations out on him, the fact that he was never home, that he didn't pull his weight at home, that they rarely had time together or did anything together any more, that he didn't call to let her know when he was going to be late and she worried about him, that he behaved as if he was still single. She only just managed to stop herself from adding that he acted as if she was his housemaid.

 

“ _So why do you stay with me, Ruth?” he asks, his mouth forming a grim line, his eyes dark and unreadable._

“ _Why do you think?” she replies angrily._

“ _I don't know,” he admits. “If you're not happy then... perhaps you shouldn't.”_

“ _Do you want me to leave?” she asks in disbelief, feeling her gut clench in panic and fear._

“ _No,” he replies quietly, “but nor do I want you to stay if I'm making you miserable.”_

“ _So that's the only solution you can come up with? Live with it or leave?” she demands, feeling suddenly very angry again. How bloody typical of a man!_

“ _What the fuck do you want me to say, Ruth?” he shouts, finally losing his temper._

“ _Really?” she yells back. “You really have no idea what I want you to say? What the hell, Harry! How about that you're sorry, that you didn't mean to hurt me, that you will come home with me and together we'll find a solution to all these problems, but that you know the solution isn't to avoid me, or tell me to fuck off?!”_

“ _This is who I am, Ruth,” he shouts in frustration. “This is what my life has always been like. I work, I come home, I sleep and go back to work again. There's only so much time in each day. We can't live like we're on holiday all the time.”_

 _She stares at him for several moments, realising that he doesn't understand what she wants from him, that she isn't getting through to him. “I'm not asking for that,” she sighs in defeat, feeling the tears prickle the back of her eyes as her anger dissipates. “All I want is a little consideration, a little more affection, a little more time with you, a few minutes of your undivided attention. Perhaps a couple of hours each week when we can do something together. Go to see a film or something. Capture a little of the magic we had in Italy for a few moments so we don't drift apart because the_ last _thing I want, Harry, is to leave you. God help me, but I love you so very much and I'm so scared of losing what we have.”_

_He sighs and brings his hand up to his forehead, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb and fingers before letting it drop back down to his side. “I'll try,” he murmurs softly._

“ _Thank you,” she nods, taking a few tentative steps towards him until she's standing right in front of him. She reaches her hand up to stroke his cheek and adds, “And please, don't ever walk out on me like that and not return home. I was sick with worry.”_

“ _I'm sorry,” he murmurs, capturing her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. “I should have rung you. I came back to the office and fell asleep doing paperwork.” He gives her a small, half smile as he adds, “When I woke up, it was already five in the morning and I've had a terrible crick in my neck ever since. It's not an experience I'd like to repeat. I promise not to do that again.” Then he adds, “But, Ruth, if you're worried about me, you can always ring me. I don't mind. In fact, it's rather nice to know someone cares. I'll try to remember to phone when I'm running late, but I know I'll forget sometimes. I haven't had anyone to ring in two decades, Ruth. It's bound to slip my mind occasionally when I'm busy with work. Just ring me.”_

“ _I will,” she nods and reaches up slowly to kiss his lips. He exhales heavily, his arms swiftly wrapping round her body and drawing her against him as he deepens their kiss. Soon she finds herself moving backwards until she's pressed up against the wall as he devours her, letting loose all his pent up emotions until they burn out and only the love and desire remain. She feels the change in the way he's kissing her, no longer hard, almost violent, but hungry, passionate, adoring, and she finds that she wants him so very much and she can't wait until they get home. So she pulls her hand back round his waist and begins to unbuckle his belt and undo his trousers, reaching inside to touch his hardness._

“ _Ruth?” he asks uncertainly as he pulls back in surprise._

“ _I want you and I can't wait until we get home, Harry,” she replies as she strokes him and he inhales sharply, “and there's no CCTV up here.” She massages him firmly with her hand feeling him come alive under her touch until he's wonderfully large and hard. It doesn't take long for him to give in, lifting her up and pushing her against the wall as her legs wrap round his middle and he pulls her knickers aside, pressing swiftly into her. It doesn't last long, their emotions heightening their awareness of each other and their arousal, but it's by far the most exiting and exhilarating thing she's ever done, and as he lowers her to the ground once more, she feels a surge of love for him, this man that she adores so very much in spite of all his failings. “I love you, Harry,” she smiles against his chest._

“ _I love you too,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating through her as he holds her close._

 

Now, every time they're up on the roof together, they share a secret smile when they think of that night. Since then, they've been doing better at communicating their needs to each other before either of them explodes in anger. Harry had insisted that they hire a thoroughly vetted housekeeper to come round and do most of the housework and the cooking while they're at work, so they can both relax when they're at home, whether alone or together. He's also been much better about ringing to let her know when he's likely to be home, and if he forgets, she knows he won't mind if she rings him when she's worried. They've even managed to carve out some time each week to do something together, play a game of scrabble, read out loud to each other, watch a film, and even go out for a meal or to the theatre on occasion.

The waiter appears just then to clear away their plates, braking into her thoughts. “Dessert?” Harry asks her.

“I don't think I can manage anything more,” she sighs contentedly.

“Do you want to share one?” he smiles.

She hesitates, but then says, “Go on then and I'd like some tea too, please.”

“Which one would you like?” he asks.

“I think I'd like some lemon meringue pie if that's all right.”

“Perfect,” he smiles and turns to the waiter to order their dessert and tea.

He turns to look at her again and their eyes hold for several moments before she says, “I've got something for you.” She pulls her purse onto her lap and opens it, extracting a small gift box and sliding it across the table towards him.

“Thank you,” he smiles as he picks it up and looks up at her before turning his attention back to the box. He lifts the lid and inside he finds a pair of round, gold cuff-links with a golden H and R intertwined together on a light mother of peal background. “They're lovely, Ruth,” he murmurs as he looks up at her again. “They must have cost you a fortune.”

“You're worth every penny,” she smiles. “Happy anniversary, Harry.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, reaching across the table to take her hand in his, squeezing it gently as he gazes at her adoringly. “Would you help me put them on?” he asks.

“Of course,” she smiles and proceeds to remove the cuff-links he's already wearing and replace them with the new ones. “There,” she says when she's done. “They look perfect.”

“I have something for you too,” he smiles and pulls his hand away to reach into his pocket and bring out a long thin jewellery box. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he murmurs and slides it across the table towards her.

“Thank you,” she smiles, looking up at him briefly before turning her attention to the box. She lifts the lid and inside she finds a silver, eternity bracelet with gems in three colours. “Oh, Harry,” she sighs, “it's beautiful.” She looks up at him again and adds, “It matches the colour of my dress to perfection.”

“And the colour of your eyes,” he murmurs as he reaches across and pulls it out of the box, fastening it around her wrist for her. Then he leans forwards and presses a kiss on the inside of her wrist before pulling back.

“I can tell these are sapphires,” she says, “and are these diamonds?” He nods so she asks, “And these?”

“Blue topaz,” he replies. “The exact colour of your eyes.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she smiles, fingering her bracelet delicately. “It's gorgeous.”

Their dessert arrives just then, so they dig in and sip their tea in silence, their gazes meeting and holding often, their eyes reflecting the joy they're experiencing at being together, sharing these special moments, and their smiles betraying their happiness. When the lemon meringue pie has been eaten and the waiter has cleared the plate from the table, Harry puts down his cup of tea and reaches across the table for her hand again. She looks up at him, and seeing that he looks a little nervous all of a sudden, she puts down her own cup and asks, “Harry? What is it?”

“I love you, Ruth,” he says softly.

“I love you too, Harry,” she smiles.

“Good,” he murmurs. “That's good.” He pauses and she watches him a little apprehensively, sensing that he's struggling with something and worrying about what it might be. “You said that after a few months you might consider...” he tails off, but his words trigger a memory of lying in bed with him after the first time they'd made love and talking about their future, and she can't help the way her heart begins to beat faster, the small smile that appears on her lips, and the hope that shines in her eyes. She's certain he sees all this as his eyes scan her face, and it must give him courage to go on, because he says quietly, “I've got something else for you.” Then he reaches into his pocket and brings out a small square jewellery box that he sets before her on the table, making her almost gasp.

Her eyes are still glued to the box when she feels him get up, still holding her hand in his, and take a couple of steps round the table before he kneels before her. She turns her head towards him and a sudden silence descends all around them as the other patrons notice what's going on.

“Ruth,” he murmurs softly as he holds her eyes with his own, his gaze tender and so full of love, “my Ruth, you have my heart, you have my soul, will you take my hand? Ruth Evershed, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispers quickly, “I will, Harry. Yes.” A big grin appears on his face and she reaches forwards, wrapping her arms round his neck and burying her face in his shoulder as the room is suddenly filled with applause.

He holds her like this for a few moments and then whispers, “I think they're all waiting for a kiss, Ruth. I know I am.”

She laughs softly into his neck and slowly lifts her head, gazing at him adoringly for a moment and feeling her cheeks heat up as someone calls out, “Go on! Give him a kiss then.” Then she gently presses her lips to his and the room's filled with applause once more, and surprisingly for such a classy restaurant, several wolf-whistles as well.

“I love you,” she murmurs as they break apart and he rises to his feet, pulling his chair towards her a little and sitting down.

“I love you too,” he smiles. Then he reaches for the ring box and opens it, extracting the loveliest engagement ring she's ever seen. It's a white gold ring with an oval blue topaz in the centre, nestled between two diamonds, each cut into the shape of a heart.

“Oh, Harry,” she gasps. “It's beautiful.” He reaches across the table for her hand, but her eye catches something on the ring and she asks, “Is it engraved?”

“Yes,” he nods and lets her take it from his fingers to look at it.

Inside she reads the inscription “Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit” followed by their names, Harry & Ruth. She smiles, her eyes soft and tender as she looks up at him, before placing it back in his palm and holding out her left hand to him. He clasps it gently in his and slides the ring onto her finger, pressing his lips against it briefly before looking back up at her.

“You've made me the happiest man alive, Ruth,” he murmurs softly.

“You've outdone yourself tonight, Harry,” she replies. “That was the most romantic proposal ever, and I'm so happy right now, I could burst. I can't sit still. I need to dance. Take me dancing, Harry.”

“All right,” he smiles, “I know the perfect place.”

 

* * *

 

She stumbles a little as they finally step through their front door, laughing at his impatience to get inside the house. His arm shoots out to steady her, pulling her back against his chest and pressing his face into her hair, breathing in deeply. She smells so very good and he wants her so very badly. The alcohol in his system, coupled with the euphoria he's been feeling since she agreed to marry him and the close proximity of their bodies during the last hour while they danced, is making it impossibly hard to control his desire.

“Is that a gun in your pocket, Harry?” she laughs as she wiggles her bottom against him making him groan.

He spins her round and leans in for a kiss, delving into her sweet mouth with a passion that leaves them both reeling. The door is still wide open, Scarlet's jumping up, scraping at his legs with her hard nails while the cats wrap around their ankles, but he notices none of these things. His fingers make quick work of her coat buttons and he slips it off her shoulders letting it drop to the floor, almost covering the cats and sending them bolting back into the kitchen. Ignoring them, he impatiently sheds his own coat and jacket, and they stumble back towards the stairs almost tripping over their discarded garments in their haste. Ruth's fingers have loosened his tie and are working on the buttons of his shirt as he lifts her cape over her head and drapes it on the banister, letting his eyes linger on her smooth, ivory skin for a few seconds before he leans in for another kiss.

Her hands are inside his shirt now, her nails scraping against his bare skin, making him shiver at the sensation. They reach the foot of the stairs and she quickly kicks off her heels before beginning to walk up them backwards, staying one step above him as they slowly make their way upstairs, their arms still wrapped around each other, their lips fused together. When they come up for air, he slips the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and pulls them down, revealing the top of her beautiful breasts.

“Ruth,” he groans as he dips his head down to feast on her, his hand lowering the zip enough to push the top of her dress down a little further, out of the way of his questing lips and tongue. They've only managed to negotiate four steps before becoming distracted, but he doesn't care. Her moans of pleasure fill his ears as he licks her soft, fragrant skin, his teeth scrapping against her and nipping at her hardened nipples. Her hands are in his hair now, pulling him towards her, tugging on his ears, massaging his neck and scalp while he sucks on one, rose coloured nipple, feeling it stretch and elongate in his mouth. His passion has reached new levels now, and his erection throbs and strains against his trousers, begging for some attention and release. Her pants and whimpers grow louder and louder, and he can tell that she's getting close to her climax, so his hands slide down her back, squeezing her soft buttocks in delight before he begins to gather up the silky fabric of her dress. Soon his hands slip below it, cupping her bottom as his mouth closes round her other nipple, stretching this one out too as she moans in pleasure.

His fingers move up and find the top of her tights and begin to pull them down, his thumbs hooking over her knickers as well and swiftly lowering them to her knees. All thought of making it up the stairs has left his head long ago, and as his fingers find her swollen sex, he slips his other arm round her waist to steady her. He can feel her orgasm fast approaching, her muscles beginning to clench around his fingers, so he sucks harder, rubbing his tongue against her skin, stroking just under her nipple, her most sensitive spot, while his thumb rubs against her tight bundle of nerves, his fingers vibrating inside her. She breaks with a low guttural moan, her head dropping back, and it is all he can do to stop himself from coming in his pants, especially when his continued ministrations cause her to ride the wave of her orgasm for what seems like hours.

Soon she's limp in his arms and he finds himself unable to support her weight any longer, so carefully he lowers her to the steps, lifting his head to look at her face, feeling a surge of pride, love and passion at the sight of her deeply sated expression. He'll never tire of seeing her like this, he realises, never tire of giving her pleasure. He's kneeling before her, his hands running over her perfect body as his gaze drops from her face to her gorgeous breasts where her skin is flushed, reddened from his kisses. His eyes roam lower over her stomach that's covered by her dress, to her shapely legs, and he pulls her tights lower, slipping them off each leg slowly, trailing kisses along her calf to her foot, kissing and licking the arch and her toes, nipping with his teeth, making her stir and moan again.

He needs to get her to their bed, he realises, and yet he's unable to break away from her long enough to do it, not when she's moaning like that and when her hands begin to pull her dress up over her hips to reveal herself to him. “Ruth,” he groans when he sees the glistening, chestnut curls surrounding the dark, pink lips of her sex. “Ruth,” he sighs again as he lowers his mouth towards them, pushing her legs up over his shoulders. He nuzzles his nose into the soft, silky curls, rubbing against her clit and nudging at her tender opening a few times before pulling up a little to run his tongue along her folds, dipping it into her core, tasting her as the soft silk of her hair brushes against his face and her plump, red lips yield below his tongue, growing thicker, darker, and hotter, her juices flowing faster.

He can't wait any more, he realises and his right hand immediately goes to his belt, swiftly pulling it free from his trousers loop by loop, dropping it on the stairs before undoing the button and zip while he continues to pleasure her with his mouth. He's so hard it's almost painful now, and as he frees himself from the confines of his underwear, he's throbbing with want. She's almost there now and he knows he won't be able to hold back if he has to watch her come again, so swiftly he lifts himself, pushing off his trousers and briefs and crawling up a couple of steps to reach her.

He grasps her bottom with one hand and pulls her towards him, hearing her moan his name softly and using his other hand to guide his engorged penis to her dripping sex. Then he leans over her, bracing himself on one forearm and lifting her buttocks, and plunges into her, making them both cry out at the intensity of the sensation. He buries his face into her shoulder, whispering her name as he pulls out and drives into her again, her hands finding their way to his buttocks and pulling him towards her with a moan of pleasure. Once more and this'll be it, he knows. His lips find the delicate skin of her neck, and as he thrusts in again, he spills inside her, groaning loudly, his mouth sucking on her delicate skin. He pumps her a few more times until he feels her come, her muscles squeezing him inside her, milking what's left of his semen and extending the waves of pleasure pulsing through him.

It takes all of his will and remaining energy to stop himself from collapsing on top of her. Instead, he pushes himself up and over to her left, sitting on the step next to her, placing his feet on the one below and folding his arms across his knees before dropping his forehead onto his arms with a groan of pleasure. He has no idea how long he remains like this, lost in a state of pure, exquisite bliss, but soon he feels her sit up next to him and press a kiss to his right shoulder as her hand slides across his back and up to caress the damp curls at the nape of his neck. He hums contentedly at her touch, feeling more relaxed and sated than he has in months.

“That was incredibly hot and rather desperate, Harry,” she murmurs and he can hear the smile in her voice. “I do hope none of the neighbours saw. We appear to have left the front door wide open.”

He lifts his head sharply at that, looking at the door, and is amazed to find that she's right. “Bloody hell,” he murmurs softly. “I'm sorry, Ruth,” he adds, feeling suddenly very guilty. “I don't know what came over me. I should never-”

“Don't apologise, Harry,” she smiles kissing his cheek softly. “I've never done it on the stairs before. It was rather fun, and you were so passionate, you had me practically on fire. It's a very good feeling to be desired so desperately. So you see, you have nothing to be sorry for... unless one of our neighbours called the police.”

He grimaces at that and then reaches for her, pulling her gently towards him and pressing a soft, tender kiss to her lips. “I've never wanted anyone that desperately before,” he confesses. “I intended to make sweet love to you all night long and then...” He tails off embarrassed.

“Who said we can't do both?” she smiles, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek.

He grins, trailing his fingers up her arm and over her shoulder to her neck. “I've marked you,” he murmurs softly as he rubs his finger across the red patch of skin on her neck. “Sorry.”

She sighs and shakes her head at him. “A love bite? Honestly, Harry. How old are you? Fifteen?” she smiles, and seeing his lips curl up in a mischievous grin, she adds, “Well, at least it's winter and I can wear a polo-necked jumper tomorrow.” She shivers slightly, adding, “Speaking of winter, I think we should probably close the door before we freeze to death.”

She stands up and begins to walk down the stairs as he watches her, noting that she's refastened her dress and admiring how stunning she looks in it. As soon as she gets up, Scarlet raises her head from her paws and begins to wag her tail before jumping up and coming towards her. He watches Ruth crouch down and make a fuss of her for a moment before turning to look at him. “It looks like we had an audience, Harry,” she smiles.

“At least she had the good sense not to attempt to join in,” he grins, delighting in the shocked expression on her face.

“ _Harry!”_ she exclaims, a red tinge spreading across her cheeks.

“Ruth?” he replies, raising one eyebrow at her as he stands and walks down the stairs towards her, noting with satisfaction her gaze roaming over him, her eyes lingering on his groin, and feeling his cock begin to fill again at the way she's looking at him. He's wearing nothing but his shirt that is hanging open in front and his socks. “Close the door, Ruth,” he says, his voice low and husky, “and come upstairs. We have some love making to be getting on with.”

And with a warm, happy smile and a deeply contented sigh, she does just that.

 


End file.
